The After Effects of One Night Stands
by Death'sDarkAngel
Summary: New relationships are always tough in the beginning—even more so when the person you're romantically involved with is Sherlock Holmes. John receives some startling news that he's sure will not bode well for his relationship with the detective. It seems that his past has finally caught up to him… Parentlock.
1. Some Startling News

**So first of all, this Parentlock and _not_ Mpreg! **

**So we all know that John is quite the ladies' man—with a nickname like "Three Continents Watson" it makes a girl wonder what kind of shenanigans the good doctor got himself into before meeting our consulting detective. What do you suppose would have happened if he wasn't as careful as he should have been in his younger years?**

**And do I need to say it? I don't own Sherlock.**

* * *

John's phone buzzed on the nightstand.

"Leave it," Sherlock whispered then pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the pressure point just below the doctor's ear.

He threw his head back and moaned. "Oh, God! Yes!"

The detective's hand traveled lower on his lover's body, and then slid around to grip one beautifully tanned arse cheek. "Mmm…I love how responsive you are to my touch…"

The phone buzzed again.

"Should—ah! Get that…"

"Just leave it. Can't be that important."

Sherlock's phone then also buzzed.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" the detective snarled. He grabbed both their mobiles and scrolled through the new messages.

_Hello, John. I have an urgent matter that requires your immediate attention. ~_MH

_Dr. Watson, I assure you, this is quite urgent. ~ _MH

_Brother, please refrain from defiling the good doctor long enough for me to speak with him ~_M

**Sod off, Mycroft. We're busy.** –S

_Get dressed, the both of you. I'm out in the sitting room. This is a matter that must be seen to immediately. ~_M

Sherlock groaned. "It's Mycroft. Says it's urgent. He's out in the sitting room."

John buried his face in his lover's shoulder and mumbled, "Your brother certainly has bad timing."

"I know. I was looking forward to shagging you into the mattress this morning," the detective confessed.

"Sherlock—not helping! Hold that thought for later."

With a nod of acknowledgement, the younger man slid off the bed first. They both dressed as quickly as possible, lest Mycroft become impatient and barge his way into their bedroom. The couple walked into the sitting room together, hand in hand, a united front against The Government.

"Ah, there you two are! Good morning! John, why don't you sit down, we have something to discuss," the elder Holmes greeting with false cheer. He looked quite at home in Sherlock's leather chair, right leg crossed over the left, hands clasped on his knee. There was a file perched on the arm of the chair next to him. Something told the doctor that his was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

Cautiously, John sat down in his chair facing the other man. "Ah, what can I help you with, Mycroft?"

"Yes, what do you want, Brother? We were in the middle of something. Kindly tell us what you want and leave," Sherlock stated as he crossed his arms and glared at his sibling.

"Sherlock, why don't you be a dear and make us all some tea," Mycroft suggested with an evil grin.

"Will it get you to leave sooner?"

"Not likely, dear Brother."

"Then no. I don't want you getting too comfortable. Tell John what you want."

The elder Holmes gave the doctor an exasperated look that said _I'm sorry you live with this, but this was your choice after all_. John smiled apologetically which equivocated to _I'm trying to teach him some manners, but it's not going to well._

Clearing his throat, Mycroft said aloud, "Yes. Well, it seems we have a slight…problem on our hands. Do you recall an acquaintance of yours by the name of Alyssa Reins?"

John recognized the name immediately. Alyssa was one of his mates back from his uni days, he told Mycroft so. The elder Holmes nodded then turned to pick up his abandoned file.

"When was the last time you had contact with Ms. Reins, Doctor?"

Thinking back on it, John realized it had been several years. "I guess it's been a little over four years. We used to keep in touch, but I haven't heard from her in awhile. Last time I saw her in person was when I was on leave during my second tour."

"I regret to inform you that that she died last Wednesday afternoon in an unfortunate accident that involved the collapse of an office building," Mycroft informed him as reached into the folder and pulled out a photograph.

The doctor felt a twinge of sadness. He hadn't seen her in years, but she had still been a friend. "That's a shame. She was a good woman. Good accountant as well."

The elder Holmes gave him a peculiar look. "And she hasn't made contact in past several years, you're sure?"

John laughed nervously. "Of course—I would have remembered. What is this really about? I doubt that you would have bothered to come here just to tell me an old uni friend had died."

"Rightfully so. I am assuming that you have never seen this before?" Mycroft asked, handing a photograph to the doctor.

He accepted the picture hesitantly. It was of Alyssa and a little boy. She was laughing into the camera, her arms around a toddler who was draped in a Union Jack quilt. John smiled to himself. Alyssa was always a beautiful woman, with wavy dark sable hair that hung down to her shoulders. The boy was definitely her son, there was no mistaking that. The little one had the same hair color, only it curled wildly and the shape of his nose was different and instead of his mother's brown eyes, his where indigo blue.

Oh. Oh God...

"I thought this was the case," Mycroft said with a sigh and handed John a second piece of paper. "I wouldn't do this to you, John, if I had another option."

With trepidation, John scanned the new evidence. It only confirmed what the photograph had told him. It was a birth certificate for one Benedict Edward Watson. Alyssa was obviously listed as the mother and John discovered that his name was listed as the child's father.

Sherlock had stayed quiet through the whole exchange. He peered over his partner's should to get a glimpse of the picture. He ignored the woman, as she no longer mattered. The detective was easily able to pick out the distinguishing features of the boy's that belonged to his father, for Sherlock was very familiar with those blue eyes, the shape of that nose, and the fullness of those lips. He suddenly needed to sit. He schooled his features as to not reveal his inner turmoil to his brother.

"I've already had a DNA test run just to be sure," the elder Holmes said softly. "It was a match, John. I am truly sorry. I didn't think you would want the boy placed into foster care. Though it is your choice if that's what you decide."

"No," John said hoarsely, then cleared his throat and said again, "No. I couldn't live with myself if I did that. He's my responsibility. Benedict will come live here with us."

Mycroft spared a look towards his younger sibling. Despite Sherlock's calm exterior, he knew that the man was reeling. He truly did feel bad for dropping this on the couple. Their relationship was still new. This was something that could potentially make or break them. He personally was praying for the former. He had no doubt that John would be able to adapt to his new scenario, he was nothing if not a true soldier. Sherlock, however, was an unknown variable.

He rose from his seat and handed John the rest of the file. "I thought that might be the case. You are an honorable man. I expected nothing less from you. Little Benedict is a fan of Manchester United, teddy bears, and any book he can get his hands on. He's fond of wooly jumpers and his favorite color is bumble bee yellow. He also has a propensity to mispronounce the letters R and L if they appear in the beginning or middle of a word. I know that you might need some time to make you accommodations more suitable to a curious toddler—and he is; believe me. I have arranged for him to stay with his mother's friend for the next few days while you made the necessary preparations here. If you like, I can have a car come pick you up this afternoon so that you can meet your son."

John just nodded numbly and mumbled his thanks to the elder Holmes, slightly confused as to why the man who was the British government seemed to care so much about this.

With a nod, Mycroft stated, "I shall take my leave then. The two of you have a lot to discuss." And then he was gone with a swing of his umbrella.

* * *

John sat so still that Sherlock was sure the rest of the mundane population would have mistaken him for a living statue, just sitting there staring blindly at the piece of paper in his hand. Growling in frustration, the consulting detective pacing back and forth; traveling from John's chair, to the window, then back again.

When the silence had become so deafening, Sherlock grit his teeth and yelled, "I never thought you were truly an idiot, John, but it seems I was mistaken. What on _earth_ were you thinking? No—my mistake—you _weren't_! You're a _bloody_ _doctor_—do you have no idea of what a prophylactic is?!"

"What?" John asked as he tried to shake himself out of his stupor.

Sherlock was now leaning in dangerously close to his face and over-annunciated as if his partner was mentally slow, "Do. You. Know. What. A. Prophylactic. Is?"

"Yes! Alright?! I know how to use a _bloody_ condom!" John snapped back.

"Were you so overcome with passion that you _forgot_?"

"Of course not! I was on leave—I would never have been careless enough to _not_ use protection!"

"Then explain precious little _Benedict_!" Sherlock spat the child's name out as if it were poisonous.

John groaned and rubbed his free hand over his face, the anger rapidly dissolving into reluctant resolve.

"I had been friends with his mum at uni. We ran in the same social circles. Kept in touch off and on while I was in med school and exchanged a few letters while I was deployed. During leave from my second tour, I ran into her at a pub one night. We got to chatting and…well, I'm sure you of all people can deduce what happened next. The condom must have been faulty."

His blogger was quite obviously telling the truth and he already knew the answer, but Sherlock wanted verbal confirmation. "Did you know about this?"

The doctor looked at him with a resurgent ping of anger. "What? Did I know that I had a son? Do you think that I would have _forgotten_ to mention that to you? Did you not think that maybe had I know about this sooner, I would have tried to find out about him—seen him? I'm his _father_, Sherlock!"

"Of course you would have. You're far too honorable not to. I would expect nothing less from you," the consulting detective sighed and ran twitchy fingers through his already tousled hair. He resumed his pacing. "Our lifestyle isn't suited for children, John."

"What are you suggesting we do? His mum is dead—it's not like he can stay where he is," the doctor countered.

"We?"

"Yes, we—unless, you don't want to be with me because of—"

"Oh, don't be silly, John! I'm not going to ask you to choose between our relationship and your infant child. How cold-hearted do you really think I am?"

On Sherlock's next pass by his chair, John reached out and grabbed onto one slender wrist. The detective immediately stilled and glanced down at his partner. "Thank you," the doctor whispered. "He deserves to at least be with one of his parents…"

Sighing in defeat, Sherlock asked, "Is this really what you want, then? I'll be rubbish at being a parent."

John pulled his lover down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around the detective's midriff. "Yes, I want to have Benedict come live here with us. And you'll be just fine, Sherlock. I have never seen you fail at anything. You'll be a brilliant father."

The consulting detective draped his arms around John's shoulder and rested his head on top of the blond's. "I just hope you're right."


	2. Benedict Edward Watson

**So here you get to meet Benedict! As Mycroft has already said in the previous chapter, the little guy has a problem pronouncing L's and R's if they appear in the the front or middle of a word-he says them as W's instead. So he can't properly say Sherlock, he calls him Shewock and the army is awmy. **

**When you're reading his dialogue, just keep this in mind. If the word looks funny, just sub out the W for an L or R until it makes sense. You can also pick up what he's saying based on the context. The only exception to his speech problem are the words "were" and "here".**

**This is based off how my nephew used to talk at that same age *sigh* How I miss those days!**

**If you're still confused, let me know :)**

* * *

Later that afternoon, a black car pulled up in front of 221 just as Mycroft had promised. And the man himself was waiting for them as they climbed in.

"Why are you coming with us?" Sherlock questioned his brother suspiciously.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I am going with you to offer an introduction. Young Benedict already knows who I am as does his caretaker. Besides, John could use all the moral support he can get right now."

The doctor was taken aback by the politician's declaration. He wasn't completely convinced as to the motives behind it, but nevertheless, it was appreciated.

"How do you already know him?" the consulting detective pressed, still wary of his brother. "You had said earlier that the child's mother died last Wednesday—yet you only just brought this to our attention this morning…"

"Yes, Sherlock," the elder Holmes replied, favoring his brother with a withering look, "I was alerted as soon as it was discovered that our good doctor here was listed on the birth certificate as little Benedict's father. I immediately arranged to meet him. The visual confirmation was almost enough to convince me that he was indeed John's son; however I do like to be thorough. I held off on bringing this to your duel attention until the DNA tests proved a positive correlation. There was no need to worry you both unnecessarily without irrefutable proof. Surely you of all people can understand _that_, Brother."

"Oh, for the love of—Mycroft, all you have to do is look at the boy and see that he's John's child!" Sherlock stated.

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. John, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchange, jumped to the politician's defense.

"He was only trying to protect me—thank you, Mycroft. I appreciate your concern." That earned him a small nod of approval. The doctor turned back to his lover and continued, "You haven't taken this news very well, Sherlock. Your brother was only looking out for the both of us. He waited until he was absolutely sure Benedict is mine. Can you imagine what would have happened if an introduction had been made sooner and it turned out that I wasn't his father?"

He saw the reasoning, he really did, it was just this whole thing had thrown him into a tailspin. "Yes I can, John. You would have formed an attachment and been heartbroken if he wasn't your son. As honorable as you are, you might have even tried to adopt the child anyway," Sherlock said into the quiet recess of the car.

Both John and Mycroft nodded at Sherlock's correct hypothesis. They were saved by more unpleasant conversation as the car rolled to a stop outside a beautiful brick townhouse located on a charming cobblestone street.

"Where are we?" John questioned as he glanced around, not having paid attention to where they were headed.

"Holland Park. Have I taught you _nothing_?" Sherlock asked in an exasperated huff.

"Wh-what?!" John stammered.

"There is no need to panic. Your '_friend'_ did not live here; this is her friend's house. And by the looks of it and the woman herself, it was a more than likely inherited or gifted to her rather than paid for out of her own pocket," the detective rattled off.

Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the ground and nodded approvingly at his younger brother. "Rightly so, Sherlock."

John looked at his companions with awed confusion. "How did you—no. Never mind."

At that moment, a petite red haired wisp of a woman emerged from the flat. All three men turned and watched her approach.

"Mycroft—nice to see you again," she greeted congenially.

The politician bowed slightly, answering, "Likewise, Miss Connor."

"_Kate_?!" John asked in disbelief.

The woman laughed as she ran towards the doctor and threw her arms around him. "John Watson—as I live and breathe! Was starting to think you were just a legend, mate!"

"No—no legend. Alive and here in the flesh, as you can see," he responded with a cheeky wink.

She grinned up at him. "Yes, I can see that! It's been ages! Read that you've been running around catching criminals with that genius detective."

"Yes, ma'am, as a matter of fact I have," he told her as he reached over to commandeer Sherlock's left hand, linking their fingers together and pulling the lanky man closer. "This is said 'genius detective', my partner."

With a tight smile, the consulting detective extended his right hand. "Sherlock Holmes. John's _boyfriend_."

Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise, recognizing the territorial claim for what it was as she shook the proffered hand. "Oh? You were always such a lady's man, Johnny. Never thought you'd end up gay."

John just shrugged nonchalantly. He was tired of explaining himself on this matter to everyone. The 'it's just Sherlock' argument always fell on deaf ears anyway, so he held his tongue. Let people assume what the will; it was of no greater consequence to him anymore.

"Well, perhaps we should start the _introductions_," Mycroft urged pointedly, reminding everyone why they were standing out front of his flat in the middle of Holland Park in the first place.

Kate nodded in agreement and beckoned the three men to follow her. As she led them up a flight of stairs, she said over her shoulder, "You've got someone here who's very anxious to meet you, Johnny."

John slowly released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sherlock gave his lover a sidelong glance and squeezed his hand reassuringly. The doctor offered his partner a small smile, grateful for his support.

"Mycwoft!" a little voice exclaimed as they entered the sitting room.

Both Sherlock and John were shocked as they watched the elder Holmes bound toward the child and drop to his knees in front of the child. The boy threw his tiny arms around the politician's neck. Mycroft laughed—_he actually laughed?_—and patted the child on the back in a paternal sort of way.

"Have you been good for your Aunt Kate?" Mycroft asked.

The little boy nodded vigorously, earning another chuckle from the older man. "Alright, good. I have a surprise for you then." Mycroft sat back and motioned for the others to join him.

"This is my younger brother, Sherlock," the politician introduced with a gesture of his hand.

The little boy nodded at the consulting detective and greeted, "Hi, Shewock!"

"Hello to you," Sherlock responded, forcing himself to be polite, if nothing but for John's sake. He was definitely _not_ jealous that the child seemed to be such a fan of his brother. Nope—not at all.

"And I think you know who this is," Mycroft continued, pointing to John.

The doctor finally released his lover's hand and took a few steps closer. He crouched down next to Mycroft and addressed the toddler, "Hello, Benedict."

The little boy stared in wide-eyed fascination at John. He slipped out of Mycroft's embrace and hesitantly crept towards his father, almost as if he was afraid that any sudden movement might make the man run away.

"Can I hug you?" he asked in a small voice, unsure how his request would be received.

John nodded and opened his arms. "Of course. You can always hug me."

Not having to be told twice, Benedict flung himself into the doctor's waiting embrace and chanted, "Daddy!" over and over again.

He gave a noble effort to trying to stay calm and together, but as soon has the word—title—_daddy_ had left the child's mouth, John broke down. He sobbed uncontrollably as he felt soft baby curls rub against his neck and chin as Benedict buried his face into his good shoulder.

Understanding his emotional breakdown, Mycroft patted his arm in reassurance. He stood and then pulled his brother back a slightly, giving the child and parent a little bit more privacy.

"This is why I waited until I was certain," the elder Holmes advised.

"You knew he'd be adversely affected," Sherlock stated.

"Mmm, I wouldn't say that he's adversely affected, Sherlock. He's acting like most new fathers do upon meeting their child for the first time."

"What?"

"He's emotional: terrified, happy, resentful that he was kept from his son for so long…" Mycroft trailed off, watching the doctor and his child talking softly to each other. "Brother, I implore you—don't make this harder on him than it already is. He needs your support more than anything at the moment."

"I don't need advice from you on how to handle my own partner!" Sherlock retorted, waspishly.

Mycroft held his hands up in placation. "I'm not suggesting you do, Sherlock. I'm merely saying that John needs our support, as I have already said."

"Why are you doing this?" demanded the younger Holmes, not trusting his brother's concern.

"Why?" Mycroft looked truly baffled. "Do I need a reason to do everything?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock—really. Despite what you might think, I honestly like John. He's been good for you. And in addition, I happen to be fond of this child as well. He's more intelligent than others his age. Reminds me a lot of you when you were still knee-high," was the answer.

* * *

John, unable to maintain his crouched position for much longer than he already has shifted to sit with his legs folded in front of him. Benedict only waited long enough to ensure the doctor was settled before crawling into his lap.

"I'm sorry that we didn't meet sooner," John told the little boy sincerely.

His son nodded solemnly as he picked at a fuzz ball on John's jumper. "Mommy said that she thought it was better this way. Said that you were busy and impowtant and that she didn't want us to get in the way."

The doctor felt his heart break at the honest confession. "Oh, my little love! You would never have been in the way. Don't think for a minute that I wouldn't have wanted you in my life. Had I known you were here, I would have been over in a heartbeat."

"Weally?" the toddler asked incredulously.

"Yes, really," John assured him with a smile. "So what did your mommy tell you about me?"

A small set of indigo eyes gazed up into his own. "Can I show you?"

"Sure, you can show me anything."

With an air of uncontained excitement, the little boy bound up off his lap and raced out of the room. He came running back in a minute later with a black leather scrapbook.

Benedict plopped back down into his previously vacated seat. He opened the scrapbook and flipped through the pages. John was surprised by the sheer number of photographs of him that Alyssa seemed to have. There was one from every uni party their group threw, as well as a number of ones from a holiday where they all ended in the British Virgin Islands. There were many of just him and Alyssa or of John and Kate.

Suddenly he felt the warm presence of his lover beside him as Sherlock lowered himself to the floor. The consulting detective looked at the book over his shoulder. "She was in love with you," the baritone voice said quietly into his ear.

"Mommy made this book for me," Benedict told his father, continuing to leaf through the book. There were more recent newspaper clippings of some of his and Sherlock's more widely known cases. "But this one is my favowite…" The toddler turned to the back of the tome to show John his military picture. It was from when he had first enlisted, fresh-faced and dewy-eyed before he had seen the true horrors of war.

"She said you were a doctor and that you save peopwe's wives and you were in the awmy. An' that you're a hewo," Benedict told him.

"Your daddy is a hero," Sherlock confirmed. "He's a good man and has saved many people's lives. Saved mine a few times."

The little boy looked up at the consulting detective in awe. "Yeah? So he's special?"

"Very special," answered the detective.

"Aunt Kate said so too," Benedict declared. "She made me my quiwt. I said I wanted a fwag quiwt because Daddy was in the awmy."

"Looks like that's another one we've gotten young for Queen and Country," Mycroft commented in an amused tone.

"Yes, Brother. Another young mind brainwashed with sentimental patriotism," Sherlock intoned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Enough, the both of you," John scolded. He turned his attention back to his child. "Sherlock and I need to get things ready for you so that you can come home with us. Is there anything you want for your room?"

"I get to wive with you?" The hope written on that little face was endearing as it was tragic, as if he didn't' quite believe John's sincerity.

"Yes, we'd like that very much," the doctor replied.

"You and Shewock?" Benedict looked from one man to the other in question, trying to puzzle out their relationship. He showed his quick intelligence by noting how the partners leaned into each other, the closeness they seemed to share. "Wuvers?" he ventured, motioning back and forth between the two of them.

John sputtered, clearly not expecting such a frank question from a three and a half year old child. Sherlock, however, was unfazed and answered for them. "Yes. Your father and I are romantically involved."

Benedict nodded in acceptance and asked the consulting detective, "Can I call you Sher? Shewock is too wong of a name."

Mycroft burst out laughing, earning himself an evil glare from his brother.

With a sigh, Sherlock told the little boy, "Fine. I am amendable to the idea."

"Okay, Sher!" Benedict bounced happily, then remembered John's earlier question to him. "Can I have my woom bumbwe bee yewwow? I wike bees."

John laughed and said, "I think we can manage a little paint job. We'll need you to stay here with Aunt Kate for a few more days, though, okay?"

"Okay. Will you come and see me?"

"Every day."

Benedict stood up and hugged his father around the neck. Then without any further words, he scooped up his scrapbook and darted out of the room. The three men saw this as their queue to leave and silently headed down the stairs to their waiting car. Kate followed them down to see them off.

John waited until the brothers were seated in the vehicle before turning to his old uni mate and asked, "Why didn't Alyssa tell me, Kate?"

The ginger's expression softened as she laid a hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. "She was in love with you, Johnny. You had gone back to the war by the time she found out about Ben, and…Alyssa just couldn't bring herself to tell you because she didn't want you to worry when there wasn't anything you could do. Then you came home, but you were injured that didn't seem like the right time…then we heard about you working with Sherlock Holmes…"

"But he's my son!" John retorted angrily. "I had a right to know!"

"I know—believe me, Johnny. I tried to tell her that over and over since the day he was born. I've…I've been putting together a scrapbook for you of Ben from when he was a baby so that you can have it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Kate offered.

"No—I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I appreciate everything you've done for him. I apologize that we can't bring him with us sooner, but our flat isn't really child-safe at the moment," John apologized.

"I understand, really. Take a few days to get ready. I know this is a big adjustment for you, so…yeah."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

John smiled at her and started to climb into the car. He stopped halfway in and asked, "Odd question—about your flat—"

With a laugh, Kate answered, "It was my gran's. She willed it to me. Are you kidding? There's no way I could afford a place like this here in Holland Park!"

Having that confirmation, the doctor just shook his head and shut the car door behind him.

"I told you so," Sherlock told him with a smug grin.


	3. Bumblebee Yellow

**Hello my darlings! Sorry for the delay-I feel so bad about being late with this! I was on spring break from my internship this past week. I had planned on doing some writing, but the plot monkeys decided to go on a nice little vacation to the Caribbean and left my sorry ass here in frigid Jersey without them, the bastards.**

**So-I have several more chapters I'm in the process of revising for _After Effects_ but my Master's degree thesis is due at the end of the month. Hopefully I can get everything done I need to in a timely manner. ****Bear with me, if you will. Don't worry, my ongoing affair with my word processor is not likely to end any time soon :) We are quite happy with each other.**

**Enough rambling-I hope you enjoy this chapter! I apologize now if it sucks, as this was an interim chapter really. To make up for it, I have given you some hot shower sex!**

* * *

They sat in an uncomfortable silence the entire ride back to the flat.

As they exited the car, Mycroft leaned out and said, "I shall have the pails of paint delivered later in the evening for young Benedict's room."

John turned back and regarded the elder Holmes. "I appreciate your effort, Mycroft, but that's part of the process for me. If you don't mind, I'd like to go down to the hardware store myself and pick out the necessities. "

"Of course, John. My apologies—it was not my intention to offend you," Mycroft replied. "I was merely offering my assistance. I know that you're not a rich man, so please, let this be my gift to your son. Have Sherlock use my card for whatever you require."

Taken back, the doctor blinked rapidly to disperse the sudden wave of emotion. "Thank you—I hardly know what to say. Your offer is overly generous."

Mycroft shook his head. "It's the least that I can do, honestly. You have done me such a turn with all that you have done for Sherlock—I am indebted to you. Please let this be a small token of my appreciation to you. That and I truly feel a level of affection for your son. He has been a joy this past week. I hope that you will permit me to spend time with him in the future."

"Yes—of course! You are welcome any time you want. You are family, after all," the doctor answered, then realized what he said. "I mean—you're Sherlock's brother and all—"

A knowing smile graced the elder Holmes face as John blushed uncontrollably. He knew he was going to receive that happy announcement yet.

They bid Mycroft adieu as the car pulled away from their flat. They climbed the seventeen steps to their sitting room in a tense silence.

"This doesn't change how I feel about you," John declared. "It does mean that I now have extra baggage…if you still want me, that is…"

"John, I thought we already covered this earlier. You know that I loath repetition," Sherlock huffed. "You're still my partner. It just so happens that you are also now a father. Your offspring seems much more intelligent than other children his age, so this might be acceptable."

The doctor regarded his lover with a keen eye. "But what if it's not?"

Sherlock turned away from him and gazed out the window. The question hung like an undetonated bomb between them. The genius sighed and faced John again, meeting his eyes with firm resolve.

"We will make this work."

"Thank you," the doctor whispered and closed the distance between them to enfold Sherlock in his arms.

They stood for several minutes like that, just absorbing each other's warmth and taking comfort in the fact that they would make it through this like everything else they did—together.

"Well, shall we go find that paint for Benedict's room? Something tells me we have a lot of work ahead of us in the next few days," Sherlock eventually stated as he reluctantly extracted himself from his lover's embrace.

"You're right. Room needs a new paint job and we need to find something to do with my old furniture—I'm wondering if we can get Ben's current things brought over," John pondered.

As if on cue, Mycroft texted the doctor like he had overheard their conversation—he in fact might have. Which was a disturbing thought.

_While you are out, I shall have some of my people remove your old things and bring over Benedict's furnishings. His belongings are being packed up as we speak._ ~MH

"Oh…" John said as he blinked down at his mobile. "Seems like your brother has already thought out all that. Says he'll take care of it."

The consulting detective snorted as he shrugged on his Belstaf. "Well at least he's making himself useful for once."

The doctor playfully smacked his partner and tried to stifle a giggle. And with that, they were off to the hardware store.

* * *

John skeptically eyed the pails of paint they had in the trolley. "Are you sure this is going to be enough?"

"Yes—the room isn't that large," Sherlock informed him. "Simple mathematics, John."

"If you say so…" the doctor mumbled as he turned his attention to roller brushes and painter's tape. He had spent so long contemplating the various attributes of the brushes, he hadn't realized Sherlock had walked away until the man reappeared and dumped an armful of stuff into their trolley.

The tall genius leaned over John and grabbed a couple of rollers from the peg right in front of him. The doctor threw the brush he had in his hand into the basket and peered into it to see what his partner had found.

John grabbed up an oversized decal of a cartoon bee hive that Sherlock had added to their shopping.

"What is this?" he asked in an amused tone. The wall art made him smile when he noticed the little cartoon bees that accompanied the hive.

"What?" Sherlock demanded defensively. His cheeks colored a lovely shade of pink as he looked away, refusing to meet his blogger's gaze. "Benedict said he liked bees. I saw this and thought that he might find it amusing."

In that moment, John felt an overwhelming wave of affection for his lover. He knew that everything would be alright as soon as those words passed Sherlock's lips. They would make this work somehow because the consulting detective was clearly trying to accept this newest hurdle in their relationship.

* * *

When they arrived back to their flat, they discovered that Mycroft had been true to his word. All of John's old furniture had been removed and replaced with Benedict's dresser, toddler bed, and a white oak toy chest—all of which was currently pushed into the center of the floor away from the walls.

The politician's minions had also kindly prepped the room for painting. There were clear plastic drop cloths over the furniture and floors in addition to the window panes and the crown molding being taped off.

John set the paint down on the floor and surveyed the room. _Right, we can do this. Just a bit of color and those adorable decals Sherlock found and this place will be as good as new. Jesus—what are we doing?! Is Sherlock really okay with this? He's taking this remarkably well. That's…worrisome…_

Sherlock placed the bag with the bee decals, paint trays, and the rollers on the nearest flat surface, which happened to be a little chest of drawers. Looking down at the furniture build for tiny people, he sighed and thought how quickly their lives had changed in the span of one day. _Oh God._ _John's a father…hmm…I seem to be having trouble processing that information. Almost like my mind palace is repelling the thought…will have to further examine this phenomenon closer at a later time_. _I don't know anything about children! How is this going to work? I've managed to let John into my life, surely I can do so for his offspring…oh. That's interesting—what is this new emotion? Jealousy? Am I jealous? Why am I jealous? _

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"You're doing it again," John stated as he eyed his partner suspiciously. _Okay—so maybe not taking this so well after all…_

"I'm not doing anything, John."

"No, you definitely are," the doctor countered. "You've got that look on your face. I can see that you're seconds away from slipping into your mind palace to contemplate God knows what…"

"It's not that hard to deduce what's on my mind, John. I'm sure you've already figured out what I'm thinking," the genius answered in a low voice.

John closed the distance between them in a few steps and wrapped his arms around his lover. "Yes, sometimes your thoughts are transparent. And here I thought that you were taking this well."

He couldn't help the smirk that found its way to his face. "You are getting better at reading me, John. Perhaps I should make more of an effort to hide my emotions."

"Don't," John pleaded and buried his face in the detective's neck. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out. Not after everything between us…"

"I doubt I could at this point," Sherlock murmured and ran a soothing hand up and down his blogger's back. "I just need some time to process all this, that's all. Now—we have a lot of work ahead of us. We might as well start right now."

John glanced up at his lover in surprise. "Right now? It's already half seven!"

"Yes…"

"Don't you think it's a little late to start painting?"

"No—the sooner we start, the sooner it will be done," the genius reasoned. "Besides, it's not like we get to bed much before one anyway so we have plenty of time. We'll simply leave the windows open to let the room vent and shut the door."

Sherlock's logic made sense. The room wasn't that large so they could easily be done in a few hours. They might as well. Together they trudged downstairs and changed into old clothes that were more appropriate for their task at hand than woolly jumpers and Spencer Hart suits.

While completing their chore, they slipped into an amicable silence. John kept stealing sideways glances at his partner. Sherlock worked diligently with his roller, his sections of the room almost finished. He seemed to apply the same manic persistence as he did with all of his cases. Only this time he did so in a pair of tight, butter soft faded jeans that hugged his hips and legs in all the right places.

When Sherlock next bend down to apply more paint to his brush, the doctor gave up his pretenses and just openly stared. In those jeans and an equally form-fitting white tee-shirt, his detective was sight to see. _Damn, he's gorgeous_, John thought to himself as he watched the muscles flexing under their cloth coverings.

"You're staring, John," Sherlock declared as he continued his task uninhibited. "It's distracting."

"_I'm_ distracting?!" the doctor asked with a degree of incredulousness in his voice. "I'm not the one prancing around in skin tight trousers wiggling my arse in the air like I'm just begging to—" he cut of his rant and blushed as his brain finally caught up with his mouth, realizing what he was about to say.

The genius turned to regard him with the full strength of his questioning eyes. "I'm just begging for what, John?" He smirked when the pink tinted cheeks registered.

"Oh, I see. Are you saying you _like_ these jeans on me? The way they cling to my body? They way they make my backside look when I bend over? Ah yes…I can tell by your deepening blush that you do in fact," Sherlock said smugly.

"Well, look at you!" John cried and motioned to his partner with his paintbrush. He succeeded in flicking yellow drops of paint all over the detective. "Christ—it's not my fault you're so bloody gorgeous. And those trousers make your arse look fantastic! God, I could fuck you right here."

Raising a sardonic eyebrow, Sherlock asked, "Could you now? Right here? In your son's bedroom? That seems a bit improper, don't you think, Dr. Watson?"

John swallowed hard as his partner suddenly dropped his roller brush, further spattering paint over the lower portion of his jeans and the drop cloth covering the floor. The consulting detective took several slow, calculated steps towards his blogger. In the process, he looked very much like a jungle cat stalking his prey. Trying to escape that predatory heat, the doctor backed up until he found himself being pressed into the child-sized chest of drawers.

As John sat down on the piece of furniture and attempted to recline as a means of escape, Sherlock planted a hand on either side of his hips and leaned in until their faces were only centimeters apart. The detective grinned in victory as he took in his lover's blown pupils, rosy cheeks, and the short panting breaths fanning across his lips.

"Maybe I should teach you a lesson," the genius murmured and brushed their mouths together in a teasing manner. "Maybe I should just shag you right here, over Benedict's bureau…what do you think? Every time you come up here to tuck the boy into bed or help him dress in the morning you'll look at this piece of furniture and remember how I bent you over it and _fucked_ you senseless like the cock slut you are…"

He couldn't help himself; John uttered a deep guttural moan and gripped tightly onto Sherlock's biceps for support. There was something about the detective talking dirty that had him horribly turned him on. John was rock hard in a matter of seconds, as soon as those words passed the younger man's lips.

"Sher-sherlock…"

"Hmm?" Sherlock nuzzled the soft flesh just below John's earlobe before snaking out his wicked tongue to lick at the spot.

"Oh God! Please…"

"Please what?"

"Fuck me! I need you to split me open with that massive cock of yours!"

Silently chuckling to himself, the genius pulled away, leaving John feeling cold and bereft. The doctor blinked several times in confusion as he watched Sherlock move gracefully around the small room finishing what little they had left to paint. It took him no more than five minutes before all the walls were completely covered in that bright sunshine, bumblebee yellow paint. With the same efficiency, he securely closed all the paint pails.

When he was finished, he headed out the door, stopping just on the other side of the threshold. Looking back over his shoulder, Sherlock said, "Well, now that that's done and you managed to cover me in paint, I think I need a shower. Coming?"

Then he darted down the stairs, knowing that John would follow. There was nothing his blogger loved more than hot shower sex. Actually, they were quite in agreeance on the matter.

As soon as he reached the bathroom, Sherlock toed off his shoes and was in the process of peeling off his socks when John came rushing in behind him. The detective immediately ceased any movement and stood stock still as the doctor strode up to him with determined purpose.

Holding his breath, John slid his hands up under the hem of his lover's tee-shirt, feeling the flat muscles of the genius' stomach jump at his wandering fingertips. He locked eyes with Sherlock while he continued to slide the thin cotton up his younger lover's torso. They broke their stare only long enough to pull the consulting detective's shirt over his head. In return, Sherlock wasted no time in giving his blogger's shirt the same treatment.

Sherlock pulled John to him, crushing their lips together. Without any prompting, the doctor parted his lips and allowed the genius' tongue to slip into his mouth. With the skills of true expert, Sherlock caressed the inside of John's oral cavity.

John really couldn't control himself when it came to being intimate with Sherlock. He loved it when the detective snogged him senseless. He moaned as that talented tongue continued to fuck his mouth. Though as fantastic as this was, it wasn't enough. His jeans were, at this point, considerably too tight. It seemed that the genius had the same thought, for they both reached for the other's belt and zipper at the same time.

This round was won by the doctor. John managed to slip his hand into Sherlock's pants and wrapped his calloused hand around that thick prick he was aching for. The detective tore his mouth away from John's and gasped as a practiced hand pumped up and down on his shaft. He rested his head against his blogger's shoulder for a minute to simply allow the pleasure of the contact wash over him. The doctor grinned as he released Sherlock and stepped away to finish undressing.

The genius followed suite and turned to start the shower. When the temperature was just hot enough, Sherlock pulled John under the spray with him.

The doctor stood on his tiptoes to kiss that luscious cupid's bow he loved so much. "Do you have any idea how sexy you look completely soaking wet and naked?"

He felt it just as much as he heard that deep baritone rumble in laughter. "I assume quite sexy given the amount of shower sex we have. You've yet to turn me down when I ask you to join me. But do you have any idea how _you_ look like this?"

And with that, Sherlock fell to his knees on the shower floor and reached for small tube of lube they kept in the corner for just this reason. He slicked up the fingers on his right hand and lightly probed at John's entrance. The detective caught his lover's heated gaze as he slowly pushed the first finger in up to the knuckle. When the older man's breathing hitched, Sherlock leaned forward and took the head of John's erection into his mouth and sucked the tip lightly.

As the second finger joined the first, the genius slid the whole of John's length into his mouth. He had to admit that he loved this, sucking off John while on his knees. His blogger had such a beautiful cock; it was long and thick with a brilliant flushed pink coloring. Sherlock loved the weight of it in his mouth and how it felt in his hand. The only thing he regretted was the fact the he couldn't relax enough to allow John to take him. When they first became intimate, he was so desperate for his doctor to top him but quickly found out that he could not withstand the feeling of being stretched so widely by that impossible girth. Thank God that John actually enjoyed being buggered by his own member—otherwise their joint foray into the sexual abyss would have been very short lived indeed.

When John started to fuck his mouth in earnest, Sherlock knew he was prepared enough. The detective pressed his blogger against the wall and grabbed two fistfuls of that tight pert arse and hauled the other up. Being a seasoned veteran at this, John wrapped his legs around his lover's waist and his arms around his shoulders for support. Without warning, Sherlock thrust into John in one swift move.

The doctor threw his head back against the wall and cried out at the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. All he could do was cling to Sherlock for dear life as those bony hips pushed up against him again and again without mercy. As the hot water sluiced down their joined bodies and the detective's searing lips left brand marks against the delicate skin of his neck. The doctor relished in the feel of the hard, cool tile of the wall against his back-it was the ideal contrast to his lover's body.

When he started to pant as that long shaft continually struck his prostate over and over, Sherlock reclaimed his mouth with a vengeance. John was so close, that tell-tale coil of fire burned deep in his belly. He dug his heels into the small of his lover's back to urge him closer. Sherlock took the prompt for what it was and drove into his blogger's willing body harder. Only four thrusts more had John screaming into his mouth as his thick, hot semen coated their stomachs and chests.

"God, John!" Sherlock cried as his lover convulsed around him, milking his own orgasm from him.

For several long moments, they stayed braced against the wall as their harsh breathing returned to normal and Sherlock's arms trembled with the effort of holding up his blogger. He slipped out carefully as to not hurt either of them and gently set his lover down. John winced as he untangled his legs from around the detective's thin waist and unsteadily tried to regain his balance when he was lowered back to the floor.

"That was amazing," the doctor breathed, a wide smile gracing his lips.

Sherlock pulled John into a tight embrace and kissed the top of his spiky blondish grey hair. "I concur with your assessment." Another kiss. "I adore you, John."

While it wasn't exactly _the_ three little words John wanted to hear from the detective, they still warmed him considerably. After their day, if Sherlock could still find it in him to be affectionate, it was definitely a good sign.

* * *

**And as always-my undying gratitude to the lovely Captain Evil! The plot monkeys want to know when their auntie is going to come over to watch some more James Bond so they can drool at him...**

**Another heartfelt thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited so far! You make me smile :D**


	4. Homecoming

**I am so sorry for the delay! I hope you don't hate me. My thesis is officially due next week, so I have been working like crazy to get it done! Good news is that I only have one more section left on it-which means you get another chapter! Yay!**

**More good news, the next THREE chapters are already written, I just have to do the read through on them to make sure they are fit for public consumption.**

**I also apologize if this chapter sucks. It's a segue into more important things and the plot monkeys were having trouble paying attention. I swear the next chapter is MUCH better than this one...**

* * *

The next six days flew by before either of them knew it. As promised, John had gone to see Benedict every day, spending most of his mornings with the toddler while Kate was at work. Occasionally Sherlock joined him, but mostly the doctor went alone.

Of course this was the week when Lestrade needed assistance on a nasty locked room homicide which accounted for much of the consulting detective's absence. John had tagged along a few times in the evenings just to stay in the loop, but his mind was otherwise occupied with the impending arrival of his child at Baker Street. As suspected, Mrs. Hudson was beside herself with joy at learning about the boy. She wept a little and blabbered on a bit about how she always wanted a grandchild and how very much like sons John and Sherlock were to her. She might have spent an obscene amount of money buying little Benedict all manners of toys and stuffed animals to fill his now finished room. The genius had grumbled about the sudden appearance of a train set and the stacks of blocks that were currently residing in the corner of their sitting room. Though, John did catch his partner playing with the trains when he thought no one was home.

John had also seen a lot more of Mycroft than he might have been comfortable with otherwise. The elder Homes had shown up randomly to visit Ben. It had surprised the doctor how well his lover's brother got on with the toddler. It seemed that one of the politician's many skills also included the ability to amuse children.

Two days before Benedict was to finally come home, Mycroft took John out to lunch at a little upscale bistro that he seemed to frequent, as the wait staff knew him well. It was a far more enjoyable affair than the doctor initially thought it would have been. He found that when he got past the lingering tension between the Holmes brothers (and ignored the younger's grossly exaggerated claims about the elder), Mycroft was an interesting fellow to converse with.

"I still can't believe how incredibly good you are with Ben," John stated as they nursed their steaming post-lunch cups of coffee.

"I've had some practice with child rearing, believe me, John," Mycroft answered with a genuine smile.

The doctor contemplated that statement as he eyed the politician curiously. "Forgive me, but you hardly seem the type…no offense."

"None taken," the elder Holmes replied and took a sip of his drink. "My dear John, whom do you think raised Sherlock?"

He rested his elbows on the table and leaned in closer, interest piqued. "What was he like as a child?"

Mycroft smirked and responded, "Shorter."

John couldn't help but laugh at the frank admission of his companion. He was rather enjoying this. The conversation had been truly enlightening. And surprisingly, the elder Holmes was quite easy to talk to, once he forgot that this man could easily order his execution and his body would never be found.

Not sure whether he would ever be in a similar situation again, having Mycroft so open and candid, he asked a question that had him burning with curiosity since the second day of his acquaintanceship with the younger brother.

"May I ask you a personal question?"

"Feel free, John. It doesn't mean that I will answer," the politician warned.

With a nod, the doctor asked, "What happened between you and Sherlock?"

Mycroft sighed and sat back in his seat before answering. "The truth is I let him down terribly. While Sherlock was attending Cambridge, something…happened. I was not there for him as I had promised I would be. That caused a great rift in our relationship. He had always been resentful of me to some degree—he thought our father doted upon me and ignored him. The truth was that our parents were quite a bit older when he was born and they were tired by the time he reached adolescence. As you can imagine, he was not the easiest child to get along with…the events of that night just drove us further apart."

He understood the difficulties of his partner's personality all too well, but the confession bothered him. "Mycroft, what happened?"

"I think that is something best left for him to tell you."

John reached across the small table and laid a warm comforting hand on the elder Holmes' wrist. "I know whatever it was, it still upsets you. I'm sorry for bringing it up. I know I can't do much, but if you ever need to talk I'm here, Mycroft."

An odd, indefinable expression flitted across the politician's face before his features were schooled back into its mask of indifference. Mycroft slid his hand out from underneath the doctor's.

"You are a good man, John Watson. My brother is lucky to have found you," the elder Holmes declared.

Without another word, he stood and threw enough money to cover their tab with a generous tip onto the table before he made a hasty exit. The doctor stared after him for several moments, unsure of what had just happened. It wasn't until their server started to clear away their abandoned coffee cups that John finally pulled himself together and left the bistro.

He looked around his surrounding and, not for the first time, wished that he knew all the roads and alleyways of their great city like his partner did. John knew he was somewhere near Hyde Park, but to be honest he hadn't really paid attention to their route as Mycroft's conversation had been rather engaging on the ride to the restaurant. Giving in, the doctor flagged down a cab. It was such an unseasonal beautiful day that John hated the idea of wasting it, but he didn't relish the idea of wandering around for hours trying to find his way home again on foot.

Winter was in the throes of death, but still had a fastidious hold on the region. The doctor rested his cheek against the glass window of his door as he watched the city race by. It seemed that the whole of London had ventured forth to enjoy this merciful break of fortuitous weather. Personally, John was glad. He was rather tired of the cold. While there was something to be said for curling up in front of the fireplace with Sherlock in his arms, he was rather looking forward to their long walks in the park. Only this time, they were finally together so they could hold hands and steal kisses as they stroll through the greenery.

That thought made him smile. The image quickly shifted to the two of them pushing a pram through the rose gardens. John's breath hitched as he considered this alteration. Would that be something Sherlock would want to do? The addition of a child changed their dynamics drastically. He was definitely worried about their relationship, as it was still a new and fragile thing.

New Year's had been their turning point. As the clock had chimed at midnight, John had suddenly found himself in Sherlock's embrace with soft lips caressing his. Their first kiss had been delightful and romantic, despite all the onlookers at the yard's New Year's Eve party.

And here they were, nearly three and a half months later. God, he was getting a headache. John wished he could fast forward through the next few weeks and get all this awkward unpleasantness over with already. But, alas, that was not an option so he did what he had always done—just continued to soldier on.

Instead of going immediately back to the flat, the doctor had his cab driver drop him off at Tesco's. He might as well make sure that they had the proper food stuffs on hand to feed his little boy. That and he and Sherlock hadn't had a real home cooked meal since they first found out about Benedict. John was getting rather tired of take-away. They both needed to start eating healthier and now was as good a time as any to start.

* * *

The day he had been waiting for and dreading with equal measure finally arrived. Sherlock had even managed to wrap up his latest case the night before so that he could be there with John when Benedict arrived at Baker Street.

Mycroft had been kind enough to send a car for them around two in the afternoon. They sat in silence the entire ride to Holland Park. The doctor could tell his partner was nervous by the strange twitchiness that had appeared in his right leg. It was one of those tells that John had learned about Sherlock and he refused to mention it, lest his lover decide to actively change his behavior. He couldn't help smile to himself at the anxious tick. It made him feel better knowing that even his genius was a bit apprehensive about bringing his son home.

After the driver collected the last of Benedict's things from Kate's flat, she gave them a rundown of the toddler's evening habits, from bath to bedtime. She also gave John a file containing the child's information, like his pediatrician's number, immunization records, and another copy of his birth certificate. The last thing Kate handed him was beautiful cream colored leather photo album.

"This is the book I've been keeping for you. I hope it makes up for some things," she said and hugged him affectionately. "Good luck. If you and Sherlock need anything, please let me know. And don't be a stranger."

So with one last kiss goodbye, Benedict was bundled into the car with his father. The detective and his blogger found out quickly that when the little boy was excited for something, he became very chatty. He started rambling the minute the door closed and continued until they arrived at their flat some thirty minutes later.

Mrs. Hudson was at the front door waiting for them. She damn near smothered the poor child as soon as he was within reaching distance. Luckily, Benedict didn't seem to mind and in fact, he looked like he was rather enjoying the attention. Sherlock ushered them all in and up the stairs as the wind started to pick up and the first few drops of rain fell.

"I'll just put the kettle on, shall I?" their landlady said and without waiting for a reply, she started bustling about in the kitchen.

Benedict walked into the sitting room and just stood there in the middle of the floor as he looked around wide-eyed at everything.

"Wow—so many books!" he exclaimed as he gazed on the overflowing shelves. There was a strange unrestrained glee in his voice upon this realization.

Sherlock regarded the young boy curiously. "Ah—yes. Mycroft did say that you were rather fond of reading…"

The toddler turned to look at the genius. "You wead a wot too?"

"Sometimes," the consulting detective answered truthfully as he stuffed his hands down his trouser pockets. "Mostly scientific books. Your father reads medical journals and texts to keep up on his knowledge. What do you like to read?"

"I wike wearning about bugs," Ben responded and asked, "Medical? You sick?"

John laughed and answered, "No—you remember I told you? Daddy's a doctor."

"Oh yeah!" Benedict cried. He did remember that. After all, there was a reason his father was a hero—and not just a soldier; he had gone to war to save lives.

The child's initial interest in the books momentarily sated, he started to peruse the rest of the room from his location in the middle of the floor. When his attention at last rested on the black bison skull hanging on the wall, he clutched his oversized teddy bear even tighter. John's heart squeezed painfully as he watched his little son cower from the mounting.

He was there in an instant, kneeing next to the toddler. "It's alright, Ben. It won't hurt you, I promise. It's just a decoration," John pacified and wrapped his arms around his son.

Benedict nodded and fiddled with the fuzzy ears of his bear. The doctor thought it best to distract the boy from the skull. In truth, they had completely forgotten about it when cleaning things up around the flat. He was so used to it that it didn't even faze him anymore, as odd as the piece was. After all, how many people actually have an American bison skull hanging on their wall? Apparently it was not a favorite of the little one right now.

So—a distraction was needed. "What's your bear's name?" John asked with great interest as he reached over to stroke the soft chocolate fur of the stuffed animal.

"Squishy," Ben reapplied and buried his face in the bear's neck.

"Well, would you and Squishy like to go up and see your room? We had your bed and furniture brought over along with all your toys," the doctor informed him.

Benedict perked up slightly and nodded.

Sherlock led the way up the second set of steps and opened the door to the bright yellow room. He remained silent as he perched on the little child's bed, allowing John and Benedict to enter behind him.

"It's yewwow!" the toddler cried out in astonishment. "And there's bees! You found me bees?!"

John grinned and glanced at his partner with eyes full of love. "Yes—Sherlock found bees for your wall."

Ben spun around and stared wide-eyed at the genius. "Sher? You found me bees?"

The doctor found it sweet and endearing that Sherlock blushed slightly at the sudden attention.

"Well, yes," the baritone voice answered. "You said you liked bees and when I saw them I thought that you might like them. I hope they are alright."

"Pewfect!" the little boy replied and flung himself at the detective. Sherlock blinked in surprise and at least had the presence of mind to catch the child. He patted Benedict's back awkwardly and looked to his lover for help. Even though he was able to show John some semblance of affection didn't mean that he was comfortable with other people showing it to him, especially a child.

John briefly contemplated rescuing his boyfriend, but decided against it. Ben was now a part of their lives and if the little tike was affectionate and wanted to show that to Sherlock, then the not-so-sociopathic genius would have to learn to live with it.

Luckily, little boys being what they are, Benedict quickly relinquished his hold on the consulting detective and slid back down to the floor. He bounced around his bedroom checking all the shelves and cabinets to ensure that all his toys and effects were in fact there.

"Wots of new stuff," the toddler said to John, puzzled. He knew that he didn't have this many toys at his mum's old flat.

Taking a seat next to Sherlock, John nodded and told his son, "Yes, we've picked up a few things for you and so has Mrs. Hudson. But—they are yours."

They spent the rest of the afternoon up in the little bedroom playing with the new addition in their lives. Well—John played while Sherlock mainly sat back and watched the two of them on the floor with various toys scattered around them. Mrs. Hudson had brought tea up to them and had joined in for a time before the hard floor became too much for her bad hip.

When it started getting a little late, John made everyone relocate downstairs so that he could start dinner. Somehow he managed to convince Sherlock to play with that new train set while he got the spaghetti going. The doctor had discreetly snapped a few pictures with his phone at the sight of Ben and his lover assembling a long stretch of track between the coffee table and the desk.

In no time, they had finished dinner and Benedict had his evening bath. John read him a bedtime story and tucked him in. The child was asleep in no time. By the time he fell into his own bed beside his partner, he was bloody exhausted.

"My, today was eventful," John declared as he snuggled up to the detective with a yawn.

Sherlock put his arm around his blogger and pulled him closer. He chuckled and responded, "That's putting it mildly."


	5. Stand Off

**So my thesis is FINALLY done! Yay! Which means more Johnlock for you! I feel horrible-I went back and realized that I've been working on this for over a month! This is going so much slower than my other stories have and for that I apologize. :( But thanks for sticking it out with me! And thanks to everyone who has reviewed and favorited so far-you make my day :) And thanks to the lovely Captain Evil for the reread, despite feeling massively crappy. Everyone send her virtual hugs and brownies.**

**I'm sorry for the following scene, but it had to be done. Hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

John was sitting in his chair staring absent-mindedly at the newspaper in his hand without really seeing it. The past week was finally taking its toll on him. He knew that it was going to be a rough start to everyone adjusting to this new life, but it was turning out to be more difficult than he first thought.

Benedict seemed to be handling the move alarmingly well and had already made his mark on 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson absolutely adored him and was beside herself with excitement at having a little person to dote upon. The doctor was eternally grateful for her practiced hand in dealing with small children as it had made his life slightly easier.

He wished he could say the same about Sherlock. That was what disturbed him about this whole situation. His partner was not handling the transition well at all. The consulting detective had been very standoffish since the second day of this new arrangement. When at all possible, he tried to avoid little Ben. There were times John would come into the sitting room to find his son and his lover sitting on opposite sides of the space staring at each other in some kind of weird showdown.

With a frustrated sigh, the doctor flung the forgotten newspaper down on the table next to his chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face and wondered not for the first time what he was going to about this whole mess. Things couldn't continue on like they had for much longer. Something had to give. Two days ago he had tried to broach the subject with Sherlock, but the genius had suddenly remembered there was something he needed to tend to at the morgue and had vanished for the following twelve hours.

It was in the middle of his contemplation that his mobile buzzed, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Hello?" John asked.

It was Sarah's frantic voice on the other end. "John! Thank God you answered!"

"Sarah? What's wrong? Everything alright?"

"No, actually," she confessed. "Can you do me a huge favor? Dr. Carls was in a bad accident this morning on the way in and we are just slammed with cases of that nasty virus that's been going around."

John cringed. That illness had kept every doctor in London on their toes for the past two weeks. It was no less than a miracle that he had been able to spend all that time off getting acquainted with Benedict. He was really surprised that she hadn't called him in sooner.

"I suppose you need me to come in?"

"If you could, please! We're just so swamped, I don't know how we're going to possibly handle this otherwise," Sarah told him. "If Sherlock could spare you for the next two weeks, I would be indebted to him."

"Umm, alright. I'll be in as soon as I can," John said. "I just need to work a few things out with him. We've had a little change in some of our arrangements."

"Oh?" she sounded intrigued.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and swallowing back another sigh, John replied, "Long story—I'll tell you when I get there."

"Okay. Take care coming in. Bye."

With that, the line disconnected. This next conversation was going to be far less pleasant. It was best that he just went ahead and had it out now—no sense in prolonging the unpleasantries. Steeling his nerves, John strode with purpose into the kitchen where Sherlock was perched at the table gazing into his microscope.

"Sherlock, Sarah has asked me to come into the surgery today," John said without preamble, knowing without a doubt that his lover had already heard his side of the discussion with the other doctor.

"Fine," the genius responded without looking up from his task.

"I need you watch Benedict," the doctor stated and held his breath.

That got his partner's attention. Sherlock frowned up at John and asked, "Why can't you have Mrs. Hudson look after him?"

"She's in Brighton with Mrs. Turner, remember? They left yesterday."

"I simply can't, John. I have things I need to do," the detective answered haughtily.

"Sherlock, seriously! You haven't a case on—there is nothing _that_ pressing you have to do!" the doctor growled out in frustration.

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "John—you know that we don't get on—"

"No! Do not go there! Sherlock, I am asking you as my _partner_ to watch over my son, please!"

"It's not that easy—"

"Yes it is, you make it out to be more that it is! If you would just _try_," John pleaded. "I know this has been rough on you—it's been rough on us all! But I need your help."

"This isn't a good idea," Sherlock warned.

"It's my only option!" cried the doctor. "I know that the two of you haven't necessarily hit it off, but he's been through a lot, Sherlock. The poor lad is trying to make the most of the situation—can't you? I need you to be there for me when things like this come up."

"John," the detective tried to reason, "you really don't know what you're asking."

Throwing up his hands, the older man answered, "I know damn well what I'm asking! I'm Ben's father and the only one he has left. I love you, but if you can't be there for me and be my partner—especially in this—then whatever is between us won't work. I have a child, Sherlock—he needs to come first in my life. Please, make the effort to prove to me that you actually care about me as much as I know you do…because if you can't, then…"

Sherlock swallowed hard and stared up at his blogger. Something twisted painfully in heart at the prospect of losing this man—there was no way he could just let John walk out of his life, child or not. He was bad at this relationship stuff and more often than not, he found himself failing miserably. God knew he was lucky enough for John to have put up with all his bullshit this long. Words said so long ago echoed through his head: _I'd be lost without my blogger._ Well, that was truer now than it had ever been.

"Alright," he agreed finally, knowing that the precarious balance of their relationship solely rested on his willingness to attend to his partner's offspring. "I'll watch over Benedict while you're at the clinic today."

A wave of relief washed through John. He briefly closed his eyes and nodded. For several seconds, he was truthfully worried that Sherlock would have decided not to bother. The doctor had hoped that the depth of the younger man's feelings for him were strong enough to refute his claim. That really was his last resort. John would walk away if he had to, but it would kill him.

Sherlock being Sherlock picked up on this of course. Again there was that painful tightness in his chest as he read this all on his blogger's expressive face.

"Thank you," John whispered. Those two words were layered with an infinite wealth of meaning behind them.

The doctor closed the distance between them and placed a kiss on Sherlock's brow. "He needs to eat—don't forget. Little boys can't go eight hours without eating."

"Don't worry," Sherlock responded quietly. "I'll make sure to feed him."

"Good. I'll be home as soon as I can tonight, but from the sounds of it, I probably won't make it much before half seven at the earliest," John advised, relief audible in his voice.

"We'll somehow manage."

"I know you will," the doctor acknowledged. "I love you. Remember—I'm only a phone call away." And with that, he dashed down the stairs and out the door.

Sherlock sat very still on his chair, staring at the place where John's feet had been only moments before. He could admit that he was jealous—he wasn't used to sharing his blogger with anyone. And the genius knew he couldn't fault John for the ultimatum either. _Would it really be that hard to accept Benedict?_ he thought to himself.

Just as he was thinking this through, he heard a pair of tiny feet stop on the threshold of the kitchen doorway. Sherlock looked up to find the child in question clutching his oversized teddy bear tightly like it was a lifeline.

"Looks like it's just you and me today," the detective declared.

Benedict nodded as his sock-clad toe rubbed at an invisible line on the tiled floor. Watching the toddler's demeanor, Sherlock frowned. The little boy was obviously agitated about something—presumably his father leaving him for the first time since he came to Baker Street.

Needless to say, when Ben spoke up finally, his question surprised Sherlock. "Do you hate me?"

He blinked and gazed at the child. "Why would you think that?"

Benedict lifted his face to regard Sherlock, his indigo eyes glassy with unshed tears. "You don't wike to tawk with me and you didn't want to stay with me whiwe Daddy had to go."

When the little boy sniffled and scrubbed angrily at his eyes, something in the genius melted. With a heavy sigh, he heaved himself out of his chair and scooped up the child. Sherlock cradled Ben's head to his shoulder as he'd seen John do at least a dozen times when the boy was upset over the past week.

Sherlock relocated them to the couch. He felt baby fine curls tickle his neck as the toddler snuggled closer, as if he were afraid that if he wasn't close enough, he would be suddenly abandoned. The genius rubbed his small back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"I like you, Benedict," Sherlock reassured him. "It's just I'm not used to sharing your father with anyone. To be quite honest, I have no idea how to talk to a person as small as you. The things I do aren't really suited for children."

"But you don't want to tawk with me about _anything_ either," Ben sobbed into his silk shirt. "I want you to wike me!"

The detective hugged the child closer and carded his long fingers through those baby fine curls. "Benedict…I have a difficult time allowing new people into my life. It honestly has nothing to do with you. And I have had your father all to myself for quite some time now. I'm not used to sharing."

There was a nod followed by sniffles. They remained like that for some time before that little voice spoke again.

"You think we can be fwiends?"

Sherlock glanced down in shock at the little curly head beneath his own. He hadn't realized how important his approval was to the boy.

"Hmm, yes, I think we can. Do you want to be my friend?"

Again there was a nod and, "I want you to be my fwiend, Sher. I wike you. You make me smiwe—you'we funny."

"You think think I'm funny?"

"Yep."

"Glad you think so."

Benedict sighed contently like a weight had been lifted off his tiny little shoulders. _This wasn't so bad_, Sherlock thought. He was sure he could do this. If John required that he prove that they could do this together, then that's what he would do. Sherlock simply couldn't lose John—that was not an option. Therefore, the consulting detective would man up and add another title to his growing list of definers, this newest one—parent.

The rest of the morning passed in relative peace. Benedict had asked to watch telly, so Sherlock turned it on to some ridiculous American program that involved a giant purple dinosaur and his silly friends. When he saw the excitement and pure adoration on the child's face, he held his tongue on those scathing remarks that had wanted to burst forth. When it was clear little Ben was settled with his show, Sherlock went back into the kitchen to continue his previous experiment, though he made sure to check on the toddler every ten minutes or so.

After about an hour of this, the genius heard the shuffling of little feet approaching. Benedict gripped the edge of the table and stood on his tiptoes to peer over the top to see what Sherlock was up to.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked, curious.

"Currently I'm measuring the growth of certain mold cultures," the detective answered honestly.

Ben glanced back at him with a look of interest. "Wike the fuzzy stuff that gwows on bwead when it goes bad?"

"Precisely."

"Can I see?" the boy inquired with a hopeful look on his face.

Sherlock smirked and bent over to lift the toddler onto his lap. It wasn't a dangerous experiment so long as the child didn't touch the specimen. And if he wanted to learn more about certain things, who was the genius to stand in the way of his education?

He balanced Benedict on his legs and indicated for the child to look into the view finder.

The day turned out to be much more interesting that Sherlock would have ever initially guessed.

* * *

John walked into the clinic to find it in complete chaos. He strode past the dozens of people waiting in the reception room with purpose.

"Oh, Dr. Watson! Thank God you're here!" Charlotte, their receptionist greeted. She looked as frazzled and worn out as he felt.

"Yes—Sarah called a bit ago and asked me to come in for Dr. Carls," John told her.

The older woman stood up and ushered him down the hallway towards the spare office he always used when he came in for the locum work. Charlotte unlocked the room for him and left him to make his preparations before he called for his first patient.

It was one hectic morning, so much so that Sarah-as thanks-ordered take away to be delivered for John and the office staff. In his brief respite from the madness, he texted his partner to see how the two of them were getting on at home without him. He hoped well. John had been serious about what he had said that morning. No matter how much he loved Sherlock, Benedict was his first priority now. The doctor needed to make sure his son was taken care of before he considered his personal happiness.

_How are things going?_ ~J

**Checking in on us, are you? We are fine.** ~S

_All ok? Haven't burned the place down?_ ~J

**Yes, Benedict is fine. Fed him about half hour ago. **~S

**Can't really talk right now—we are in the middle of something. **~S

**Looking forward to seeing you tonight. I miss you. **~S

_I miss you too. Love you. _~J

John smiled down at his phone and felt some of his original worry dissipate. A part of him knew that he should probably be concerned about whatever that something they were in the middle of was, but he couldn't find it in himself. The doctor let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. The tightness in his chest eased a little at the thought that Sherlock was actually making an effort to interact with Benedict.

Sarah popped her head in the door and knocked on the frame. He glanced up as she smiled and waved a brown bag at him. The smell of sesame chicken reached John and suddenly he was ravenous.

"Thank you for lunch," he said as the other doctor approached his desk.

She shook her head and dropped down into the empty chair on the other side of the desk. "No—thank _you_! You're a life saver. If you hadn't come in, there still would be thirty people in the waiting room instead of ten."

He raised his coffee cup in salute to her and took a sip as she set out their dishes on the workspace between them. They tucked into their lunch and were almost finished when Sarah spoke again, curiosity getting the better of her.

"So…you said you had a long story for me about Sherlock. Going to enlighten me any time soon?"

Ah. John knew this was coming. "Well, it deals with Sherlock, but that's not the whole of it…" He pulled up a photo of Benedict on his phone and handed the mobile to Sarah.

"Oh my God!" she squealed. "He's utterly adorable! Wait—this can't be…"

The doctor eyed up his colleague as he replied, "What? Can't be my son? Yep—that is Benedict."

Sarah stared at him dumbfounded for a minute before recovering enough to ask, "You have a son? Really? Oh my God. I can't believe it…What happened? I mean—I know what happened, but how?"

John couldn't help it as he laughed at his friend. "I would have thought as a doctor you wouldn't need an explanation on that," he teased, but then launched into the shortened version of finding out about his child because of the death of his mother.

"And you had no idea?" Sarah demanded incredulously.

He shook his head. "No, none at all. Not until Mycroft showed up one morning a little over two weeks ago to tell me."

"You're better than I am—I would have been livid to find out someone had kept my child from me," she told John. "How is Sherlock handling all this? From the sounds of it, not well I take it?"

With a sigh, the doctor said, "Not well this morning—though everything seems to be okay this afternoon, so we'll see when I get home. Sherlock's just been very stand-offish…I had to give him an ultimatum this morning. I hate myself for doing it—he's the love of my life, Sarah, but if he can't accept Ben into our lives then…"

Sarah sensed his distress and reached out across the desk and took one of his hands in hers. "I know this is hard on you, John. But think about how this must be affecting him. Sherlock has never liked to share you at the best of times—then now to find out that you're a daddy? He's afraid of losing his partner. You just need to give him time. This is a big adjustment for the both of you."

John nodded and replied, "Yes, you're right. He did agree to watch Ben today—although I really didn't give him a choice."

She offered him a sympathetic smile and squeezed his hand. "Everything will work out in the end, I can feel it."

"I hope you're right."

"I know I am," Sarah countered before standing to clear away the remnants of their lunch.


	6. Play Dough and Invisible Ink

**Hello again, my darlings! This one's a little shorter simply because I felt that the next part deserved its own chapter. Thanks Captain Evil! **

**And good news for you: I am officially done my masters degree! Which means that the only things I have to do at the moment are write more Johnlock for you and hunt for a job! Yay!**

**The plot monkeys enjoyed this chapter a lot and they hope you do too. :D**

* * *

_She offered him a sympathetic smile and squeezed his hand. "Everything will work out in the end, I can feel it."_

_"I hope you're right."_

_"I know I am," Sarah countered before standing to clear away the remnants of their lunch. _

~0_o~

They went back to their patient lists after that. The influx of people thankfully started to taper off near the end of his shift. That meant that they were actually able to shut down the clinic at the designated closing time. Word had gotten around about little Benedict, so John ended up having to pass around his mobile while all the ladies fawned over the photos of his son. They demanded he bring the toddler into the clinic as soon as this bout of the virus passed. He also received countless offers to babysit.

As the outer doors to the clinic closed behind him, John snorted and shook his head. There was something about a cute kid women couldn't seem to resist. Then add to that, the cute kid in question was _his_, and they went wild. He knew that if the ladies didn't already know that he was intimately involved with Sherlock, he would have had those kinds of offers to contend with as well.

He took off in the direction of the tube, contemplating how quickly he wanted to get home. He had just enough notes in his wallet to pay for a cab. The more he thought about it, the firmer his decision to get home as quickly as possible became. He was anxious to see how they were getting on.

It was almost as if fate had heard his call, for as soon as his mind was made up, a black car rolled to a stop on the curb next to him. John had to admit that he had never been happier to see Mycroft Holmes. The elder politician might be able to offer him some insight to his current situation with the other's younger brother. So it was without hesitation that John slid onto the leather backseat of the luxurious sedan.

"I don't think I've ever been more pleased to see you," the doctor said truthfully once the door was shut.

The elder Holmes readjusted his shirt cuffs and raised a questioning eyebrow at him before speaking. "Has my brother really been that difficult?"

John shook his head. "I would say 'you have no idea', but clearly you do. I'm assuming that's why I owe you the pleasure of this ride?"

"Quite right," Mycroft acknowledged. His expression softened minutely. "I heard about your little domestic this morning. I'm truly sorry, John."

The doctor sighed and rubbed his hands over his tired eyes. He was emotionally drained at the moment. The last thing he needed to was to break down in front of Mycroft Holmes of all people.

"Sherlock cares a great deal for you, you know that. He will not just let you walk out of his life," the politician continued.

Leaning back into the seat and shoving his fingers through his short graying hair, John asked wearily, "I know, Mycroft, but what am I supposed to do? I have a child to think about now—it's not just me anymore…"

"I am aware—you misunderstand. I am not suggesting you neglect your son's needs," the elder Holmes reasoned calmly. "But what I am saying is that you shouldn't give up on Sherlock just yet. He's just as terrified as you are, maybe more so. He hasn't the faintest clue about how to handle a child of Benedict's age."

John tilted his head to the side and viewed Mycroft with a curious expression as a thought suddenly came to him. "When was the last time Sherlock was actually around children?"

The politician quirked a smile as his companion finally asked the right question. "I believe it was when he himself was a child."

"But that doesn't count!"

"Right you are, John. It does not."

"Christ! No wonder he's been so standoffish!" the doctor exclaimed.

Mycroft nodded and replied softly, "So you see? Just give him some time. He will come around. In fact, I think you may be pleasantly surprised this evening."

John raised his eyebrows in silent question, but the car had rolled to a stop out front of his door, so no more information was forthcoming from the elder Holmes.

He climbed out but leaned back in before shutting the door. "Would you like to come up and see Ben?"

"I would very much like to do so, but I believe right now is not the best time," Mycroft answered.

The doctor waved goodbye and quickly unlocked the door to 221 as the black sedan sped off.

"Sherlock? Benedict?" John called out as he ascended the steps to their flat. He had spent the last twelve hours at the surgery worrying about how his lover would handle being alone with a toddler—a toddler he very much resented being thrown into his life.

As he hung up his coat, he could hear his child's soft voice and then Sherlock's deep timbre answer. They were speaking too low for John to make out what was being said. When the doctor walked over to the kitchen doorway, he stopped dead at the sight before him, completely shocked.

There, seated at the table with a Bunsen burner and test tubes galore, was the great Sherlock Holmes with little Benedict perched on his lap.

"That's it—now only three drops of this one," the baritone voice advised.

John watched as Ben's tiny hand reached up with a pipette and added some strange blue liquid into the beaker. He couldn't help the smile that broke out into his face. He leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms over his chest in amusement. "I really hope you're not letting my son play with corrosive acid, Sherlock."

He couldn't help but laugh when two pairs of goggled eyes turned to stare at him. The consulting detective rolled his eyes and answered, "Honestly, John. I do know that there are certain things children should not be allowed to play with."

"So what are you doing then?" he asked out of curiosity.

"Sher is showing me how to make my own pway dough! We're making gween this time!" Benedict exclaimed with unrestrained glee.

He felt incredibly moved that his lover would go out of his way to do something so nice for the boy.

When John met Sherlock's gaze, the genius gave him a small little smile. _I'm trying_, it said. Closing the few extra steps between them, the doctor slung one arm around the detective's shoulders and the other one around his son's chest. He first kissed the top of Ben's unruly sable curls, and then met his partner's lips. "Thank you," he mouthed silently against the younger man's mouth.

Sherlock nodded then gently pushed John away with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Benedict's middle. "Now go!" he demanded. "This recipe is time sensitive! If it overcooks, we have to start it over."

That earned a chuckle from John. "Speaking from experience, then?"

There was an annoyed huff, then, "Yes. We went through quite a lot of flour. Had to go out to Tesco's and get more half way through."

John was certain all this shock was not good for his system. "You went _shopping_?"

"Is that not what I just said? Besides, we had to pick up some other ingredients for another experiment we are going to try tomorrow."

"Oh God."

"You have nothing to worry about, so calm down."

"We're gonna try and make _invisibwe_ ink! And Sher's gonna hewp me buiwd a wocket!" Benedict told John, clearly excited. It seems Sherlock had become his son's new best friend.

The doctor blinked several times before responding. "Do _not_ let him touch the iodine, Sherlock. And a rocket?! He's only three!"

"Three and a half. I assure you the rocket will be safe. It only requires the use of sodium bicarbonate and acetic acid," the consulting detective informed.

"Sodium bicarbonate and acetic acid?" John repeated weakly.

"Yes, John! Baking soda and white vinegar. How ever did you pass medical school? Surely you were required to take chemistry?" Sherlock explained, exasperated.

The doctor wasn't sure what was worse—his partner treating his son like a piranha or his partner conducting experiments with his son. At least Ben would have a head start on science and chemistry…

Without anything to do in the kitchen, John wandered into the sitting room and sat in Sherlock's usual chair so that he would have a clear view of his boys working diligently on their play dough. He allowed a smile to overtake his face. Watching the scene before him, John fell a little bit more in love with his impossible, eccentric boyfriend.

Ten minutes later it seemed that their experiment was complete. Sherlock reached over and turned off the Bunsen burner and stored the green goo in an airtight container.

The detective pulled off his goggles and instructed Benedict to do the same. When the eye gear was discarded, Sherlock heaved the toddler up, stating that they had to wash their hands. John watched in awe as his partner managed to turn on the tap one handed and maneuvered his son so that the boy could place his hands under the flowing stream of water.

When Ben was clean enough, the genius set him back down on the floor to wash his own hands. The little tike turned and ran straight for John. With his running start, he was able to gain enough momentum to take a flying leap onto his father's lap.

"Daddy!" he cried excitedly and wrapped his small arms around John's neck. "You miss me?"

"Hello again, Sweetheart," the doctor greeted with a grin. "And yes, I missed you a bunch. Did you have a good time with Sherlock today?"

"Yep. He's awesome!" Benedict stated.

"I think so too," John stage whispered in a conspiratorial manner, which caused his son to giggle. That gleeful noise set him off as well.

When John heard the click of a shutter, he looked up to see Sherlock standing a few meters away, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other raised with his phone perfectly poised to snap a picture. The doctor gave his partner a questioning look. An adorable blush crept across the detective's face as he offered John a crooked smile. He clearly hadn't planned on being caught in the act.

Glancing back and forth between his son and Sherlock, the doctor asked, "Is anyone else hungry?"

"Starving," that deep baritone answered as Ben chose just to nod.

"Did you happen to buy something for dinner while you were out shopping?" John asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, but I think it would be nice to go out for dinner this evening," Sherlock declared. "Angelo's?"

* * *

John was amazed. They sat through dinner at their favorite restaurant at their usual table, only this time with the new addition of Benedict. Angelo and the wait staff fell all over themselves for the little boy.

But that wasn't what really got to the doctor. What made the difference was Sherlock. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped, for there was no way this was the same man he had fought with this very morning about caring for the toddler. Perhaps it was Ben's apparent love for science that forged the bond that John had been praying for since they first met his son.

He leaned back in his seat with an amused smile on his face as he listened to his partner tell quite an animated tale of one of their more exciting cases, all for Benedict's enjoyment. Their waiter this evening—Billy—slowly cleared away their plates, obviously lingering to hear the resolution of the adventure.

"...Then John leapt _over_ the car and tackled the jewel thief onto a table just outside of this café. Of course the three elderly ladies sitting there looked up in shock as this criminal effectively sloshes their afternoon tea all over the patio. One of the matrons then picks up her handbag and hits the thief upside his head as she yells at him over how he should not have tried resisting arrest. To this, your father simply says, 'That's alright—I needed the exercise.' I don't think I've ever seen Lestrade laugh so hard," Sherlock concluded with a smirk on his face.

Ben sat wide-eyed and openmouthed staring at the genius, clearly enraptured by the story. "Wow!"

"Indeed," the consulting detective concurred as he looked up and met his blogger's gaze with affection.

The doctor blushed and averted his eyes. He briefly wondered if he would always have this reaction to Sherlock's obvious praise and attentions. Part of him hoped that he that he would. John felt himself start to become overly emotional. It wouldn't do to make a public spectacle of himself, so he flagged down Billy—who was still hovering close by—and asked for their check.

Once dinner was paid for, Sherlock bundled Benedict up in his coat and scarf and the trio made their way out into the night. The toddler insisted on walking, so he situated himself between John and his partner, holding onto their hands with one of his own. Their pace was much slower than usual with those little legs taking such tiny steps compared to theirs. Half way back to the flat, they had to halt their progress momentarily as Ben became too tired to continue.

John laughed as he lifted his son into his arms. The little one's yawn was audible and he wasted no time in dropping his curly head onto his father's shoulder. Sherlock watched this out of the corner of his eye and felt something shift within him. He loved seeing this side of John, the doting parent. It suddenly occurred to him that he couldn't imagine his life any other way in that moment. It was odd because he never envisioned that this was something he would have ever wanted out of life. He chalked it up to _John_, who continually surprised him at every turn.

Sherlock was very well aware of how wrong this morning's encounter could have gone had he not manned up to meet his partner half way. The thought was quite a sobering one. The detective figured he must have done something right today—John once again gazed at him with that look in his eyes, the look that said he was completely in love. It caused that strange fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach, which wasn't wholly unpleasant. He mulled this over the rest of the way back to Baker Street as they fell into a companionable silence and as they eventually traversed the steps up to their flat.

* * *

**More conversations with Mycroft; John-these are becoming a habit...hmm...**

**So Captain Evil and I totally disturbed my sister by bantering back and forth in character while doing the initial verbal run-down of this chapter. She makes such a dashing Mycroft. The plot monkeys swooned.**

**Hahahahahaha! **


	7. Intertwined

**Happy Friday my loves! Here's another chapter for you! Thanks to my darling Captain Evil for correcting my errors yet again. Any other mistakes are mine (and I'm sure there's several).**

* * *

The doctor took his sleeping child up to the boy's bedroom and tucked him in. Benedict was so sound asleep that he didn't even stir when he was redressed in his night clothes and then transferred to his bed. John smiled to himself. This was by far the easiest bedtime they had encountered since the toddler had come to live with them. It seems that Sherlock had worn the poor boy out. That in itself was a blessing—a sign that the genius was truly willing to try and that was all John was asking for.

John quietly crept back down to their room. He pushed open their door and stopped in his tracks. Sherlock was lying on top of the covers, completely nude and stretched out like a lounge cat. The doctor felt his mouth go dry as he raked his gaze over the beautiful form of his lover. He was half hard just looking at the detective. It had been well over a week since the last time they had been intimate with one another.

"Come here, John," Sherlock demanded softly as he beckoned with his hand.

Locking eyes with his partner, John stepped further into the bedroom while he started divesting himself of his clothing piece by piece. When at last he was naked, the doctor crawled onto the mattress and was quickly enveloped in Sherlock's arms. As he felt that familiar rub of smooth skin against his own, he moaned in pleasure.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," that baritone whispered into his right ear. "I just want to hold you."

"You can take me, Sherlock."

"Yes, but that means I would have to let you go in order to prepare you," the genius said, pulling him closer still. It was quite clear to the doctor that Sherlock had no intentions of releasing his hold any time soon.

That was enough to cause John to become fully erect. He rolled his partner onto his back and settled on top of him.

"Let me suggest an alternative, then," he replied and thrust his hips down into Sherlock's.

The detective gasped at the sudden friction and arched his back off the bed. "You are a genius, John," he murmured.

The doctor leaned down to capture Sherlock's lips. The genius sighed and opened his mouth to allow John's tongue to slip past his lips as they pushed their groins into each other. He took this opportunity to leisurely explore the inside of the younger man's mouth. He could taste the minty toothpaste Sherlock favored, as it was fresh on his tongue. It was a unique flavor, and one that John always had associated with his partner.

The friction they were creating was delicious and Sherlock found himself much too excited in the short time since they had started. He broke away from John's oral assault panting. Heat coiled low in his belly, signaling his impending orgasm. His blogger knew all of his little tells, so of course John was aware of how close to the edge he was. His toes curled next and he thrust his hips up in an abrupt urgency. Only his doctor could make him this hot over a little bit of frotting. Sherlock was frustrated with himself; he wanted this so badly—he didn't want it to end so soon.

John always knew exactly what his detective's needs were in the bedroom. As he rested his forehead against Sherlock's, he whispered, "It's alright, love. I've got you, you can let go."

It was just a breath against his lips, but the sensation along with the safety and security that his blogger offered him was too much. Sherlock arched his back and came, calling out John's name.

Watching the genius fall apart and feeling the hot slickness of his lover's cum against his lower abdomen sent the doctor over the edge.

They laid there, limbs intertwined for several minutes, breathing heavily. Once their heart rates were back under control, John shifted to crawl off Sherlock only to find himself locked in a tight hold.

"Easy there, love. I'm only going to get a wet flannel," John assured him.

With a nod, the detective reluctantly released his blogger. He didn't like this unease that had descended upon him. It was almost like when he first returned after that horrible year he spent absent from John. Sherlock had been afraid to let the doctor out of his sight for the first month after his return. It was illogical, he knew, but the genius felt that if John was out of his view for any extended period of time that his homecoming would have been nothing but a dream. That sheer terror had crept back in again.

But before his mind could wander too far down that dark path, John did in fact return to their shared room with the promised wet flannel. And like the caring and thoughtful partner he was, the doctor tenderly cleaned off Sherlock before he slid back into bed.

John smiled as he was once again wrapped securely in his lover's embrace. The consulting detective buried his face in the crook of his blogger's neck and let out a shaky breath.

The doctor carded his fingers through his genius' silky curls. "Hey now, what's the matter?" he asked softly.

"I don't want to lose you!" Sherlock said desperately and pulled back far enough to see the other's face. "Not after everything we've been through. Losing you would break me—do you understand that, John?"

"I know," the doctor replied in a hushed voice as he smoothed a wild curl back off his lover's face. "Sherlock, I knew that the day Moriarty wrapped me in semtex. And then again when you foolishly decided to jump off that goddamn roof—you don't do that for just anyone-best friend or no."

"John, I need you," the consulting detective blurted out.

That phrase was the closest Sherlock had come to expressing the true nature of his feelings for the doctor. The genius had yet to use the actual "L" word to describe his emotions, but 'I need you' was pretty damn close considering the source. The great Sherlock Holmes didn't _need_ anything.

"You have me, Sher. I'm here," John insisted.

"But this morning—" Sherlock choked back a sob, "you said whatever was between us—wouldn't—wouldn't work…"

"Only if you couldn't step up and be my _partner_ in this," the doctor reminded him gently. "But you did, and you showed me tonight by proving that you can be what I need."

John cupped Sherlock's cheek and held his eyes. "Don't ever doubt my love for you. You know it would kill me to walk away from you."

"John…"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I am grateful you are giving me the chance to prove to you that I can be what you need."

"I know. And I love you all the more for trying."

John felt little puffs of air against his collarbone as Sherlock tried to regain his composure. There was silence for several long moments before the consulting detective spoke again. "What do you do to me, John? Why is it that you have succeeded in breaking down my defenses when no other has? I don't understand…"

"Oh I think you do, Sherlock," the doctor countered as he ran the tips of his fingers down the nape of his lover's neck.

Sherlock's stomach felt like he had swallowed a swarm of butterflies. Yes, he did know and he understood well enough why John effected him so. There was no one like John Watson, who was loving and kind, brave and loyal, patience and honorable. Before his blogger had hobbled into the lab that day so long ago, the genius has been living a half life. He simply existed. It was John who had taught him how to truly _live_. Sherlock was well aware of his feelings for John, but no matter how many times he tried to express them, he was simply unable to say the words. And it was killing him that he knew John needed to hear them yet he couldn't make his brilliant mind command his tongue to form the syllables. Even though he couldn't vocalize it didn't make it any less true.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a slow breath. "I'm sorry, John."

Arms tightened around him. "Don't be. I know how you are with feelings. When you're ready, you'll tell me. Until then, I'll just have to say it enough for the both of us. I love you."

"Tell me again," the detective whispered and pressed a kiss to the side of the doctor's neck.

There was smile in his voice as John obliged this lover in repeating himself, "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"I don't think I will ever tire of hearing you say that," Sherlock confessed.

John nuzzled his hairline as he said, "My—you're rather sentimental this evening."

"It's been one of those days."

"Indeed it has," John agreed. "Thank you for taking care of Ben today. I hate to ask you, but—"

"You're needed at the surgery tomorrow as well. I know," Sherlock stated. "I had figured that out already."

John sighed and absently rubber the genius' shoulder. "Dr. Carls was in a terrible accident this morning. They'll likely need me for the next two weeks…if you think you can handle it…?"

"Benedict is hardly a burden, John."

"Funny, because that's not what you said this morning. I'm sorry—that was unfair of me."

The detective winced and answered, "No—you're right. I was acting like a prat. But your son is…exceptional. He just wants to learn _everything_. I'm in awe of him…I explained things to him that he understood at three-and-a-half that children fifteen years his senior have a hard time grasping. It's amazing, really."

"Yes—I meant to ask—how did you two come to experimenting?" John asked curiously.

"I was examining my mold cultures and he came over and asked to see them, so I showed him. I didn't let Benedict touch it of course, but he sat on my lap while I finished what I was doing with it. I remembered that I had this book with science experiments more suitable for children, so I pulled it out and he leafed through it until he found a few things he wanted to try. I couldn't say no—especially when he looked at me with those eyes…" Sherlock explained.

John smirked. "You're a push over."

"Yes, I am aware."

"Just nothing explosive or corrosive, please," the doctor requested. "Let's save those for when he's a bit older, yeah?"

"Nothing more dangerous than vinegar, I promise."

"And what about the iodine for the invisible ink?"

"Well, I'm not going to let him touch that—God forbid he has an allergy to it like you do," replied the detective.

John gave a nod that his partner felt rather than saw. "I trust you. And no body parts, either."

"But that leaves out all the really exciting things I could teach him," Sherlock whined.

"I'm not saying no—I'm just saying not now," the doctor explained. "Wait until he's at least out of primary school first. I don't relish the idea of a parent conference dealing with _that_…"

The genius let out a huff of laughter before sobering. "John, we will have to consider public school for him—I'm being truly sincere when I say that he is exceptional. At his age he should just be learning to read, instead he's years ahead…he's utterly…brilliant."

"Ah. Is that what changed your mind then?"

"Well, it certainly helped," Sherlock confessed. "Benedict is like a sponge. From what I saw today, he has an infinite capacity to learn. It's amazing. Mycroft was right; your son is a lot like me when I was at that age. Only he's better because he is so much like you."

A warm, tired smile crossed John's lips as he asked, "How so?"

"Besides having your expressive eyes, he has your heart."

* * *

Sherlock stretched languidly and slowly opened his eyes. A genuine smile played at the corners of his mouth as he watched the dust motes float dreamily in the morning rays of sunlight filtering through the part in their bedroom drapes.

John never ceased to surprise him. Just when he thought he knew everything there was about his blogger, the good doctor always managed to prove to him how very little he did in fact know.

It's not that they never had sex twice in one day, before—they had, but they were considerably older now and well beyond their sexual prime. Usually if they indulged in multiple sessions of pleasures of the flesh, it was hours apart, but never twice within the span of an hour.

His smile stretched into a grin as he buried his face in John's pillow, breathing in the unique scent of his lover. Sherlock did feel slightly guilty, though. It had been rather late when they got home from dinner to begin with and their second round of love making was lenient and slow. He knew he should have said no, knowing that his blogger had to be up for work only mere hours later, but he had been powerless to stop the torrent of want that seized him when John insistently had rolled him onto his back and straddled him.

Turning his head back towards the window, Sherlock frowned when he reassessed the sun rays dancing around the room. With a sigh, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his mobile. When he checked the time, it was much later than he had initially anticipated. How had he managed to sleep until eleven o'clock without little Benedict waking him? He knew the toddler was excited for their planned experiments but he was left undisturbed.

Without a further thought, the detective jumped out of bed and threw his blue dressing gown around his slight frame. As soon as he had taken not more than three steps outside his bedroom door, he had his answer. Two voices murmured softly to each other, momentarily unaware of his presence.

"Ah, Sherlock. You're finally awake," Mycroft greeted with an amused tone. He was sitting in his younger brother's chair with Benedict on his lap. They were reading what looked like a Dr. Seuss book from the genius' vantage point.

"Brother Dear—what brings you here?" Sherlock questioned in his most civil tone, eyebrow raised for effect.

Mycroft smiled down at the little toddler on his lap as he replied, "Young Master Benedict and I were just doing a little reading while you slept. I just stopped by to see how he was getting on."

"And you just let yourself in, did you?" demanded the consulting detective.

"Oh, no. On the contrary," the elder Holmes answered with a smirk. "John let me in on his way out this morning."

Gritting his teeth, Sherlock stated, "John left around half seven."

"Yes. He was running a little late this morning. I offered him my car to ensure he made it to the clinic on time. John asked me to inform you that his shift today would only be until five and that he will be home shortly thereafter," Mycroft told his brother.

"So you've been here all morning."

"Astute as always, Brother."

"Yes—but why are you still here?"

"Because little Benedict was awake shortly after his father left and I thought it prudent to let you sleep—seeing as how you get so little usually as it is. Besides—we're having a good time, aren't we?" This last question he directed at the boy.

Benedict nodded enthusiastically and bounced up and down on Mycroft's leg as he pointed to a stack of coloring books and a forty-eight package of crayons sitting on the end table next to the chair. "Mycwoft bwought me coworing stuff! Look Sher!"

Sherlock took a few more steps into the sitting room and glanced at the items in question. "I see," he answered with faked interest—solely for the child's sake. "Benedict, why don't you go sit at the coffee table and color with one of your new coloring books while I have a little chat with Uncle Mycroft."

"Okay," Ben agreed readily and was off the second the elder Holmes set the boy on the floor. Sherlock picked up the art supplies and relocated them to the coffee table as the toddler positioned himself between it and the couch. The genius leaned down and ruffled Benedict's curly hair before turning away to glare daggers at his sibling.

Despite the heated stare he was gracing his brother with, his words were deceptively pleasant. "Tea, Mycroft?" Without waiting for a reply, he stalked off into the kitchen, knowing the elder would follow.

Mycroft sighed and leveled himself up out of the chair and trailed after Sherlock; he knew this conversation was going to be unpleasant. He gingerly sat at the kitchen table as his younger brother put the kettle on.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock hissed at him the minute he turned back around.

"Must we go over this _again_? I have already explained this to you"

"No—this time I want the real reason."

"Is it that difficult to understand that I like little Benedict and that I want to be included in his life?"

"Yes it is because you never do anything without an ulterior motive."

The elder Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "Honestly, Sherlock! Why is it that you always assume the worst of me? Can you not trust me?"

Sherlock crossed his arms defensively and glanced back out into the sitting room to see Benedict happily engrossed in his crayons. There were several moments of tense silence before he quietly responded, "You already know the answer to that, Brother Dear."

"How long are you going to hang that over my head, Sherlock? Have I not proven to you that I deeply regret my actions in regards to that matter?" Mycroft pleaded.

"And here I thought it was _you_ that said 'Caring is not an advantage'. Or was I mistaken?" the detective asked bitterly.

The elder Holmes bit the inside of his cheek to ground himself in the pain and took a few deep breaths through his nose before answering. "I make an exception in certain cases."

"So is your regard just for me or do you extend that to John as well?" Sherlock asked shrewdly, eyeing his brother with that infamous laser intensity.

Mycroft looked away and changed the subject. "He asked about it, you know. He wanted to know what happened between us."

"When?"

"Last week while we were out to lunch."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I said that he should ask you."

Sherlock backed away from his brother and flicked the kettle off without giving it any further thought, his original intentions of tea forgotten. "Why didn't you just tell him?"

The detective felt a sharp pain flash through his chest at the miserable expression on his brother's face. He tamped his emotions down quickly, refusing to give them a second thought. Even all these years later that betrayal still stung like it was a fresh wound. Perhaps it was a bit unfair of him to keep punishing Mycroft after all this time, but that singular event had nearly ruined his life and had set him down that dark path of his own private hell. As much as he knew it upset Mycroft that he had lost his little brother's affection, Sherlock had lost so much more than that.

"That's a conversation you should have with John," the elder Holmes replied. "It's not my place to share that with him. I know you are loath to discuss it, but it would go a long way for your relationship if you trusted him with this…"

"I don't need you to tell me what I should and should not share with my partner," Sherlock snapped angrily.

Mycroft sighed and gave a minute shake of his head and responded, "I'm merely advising you that he asked and it's only a matter of time before he brings it up to you."

"Please see yourself out, Brother."

The elder Holmes pushed away from the table and walked back into the sitting room to retrieve his abandoned umbrella from where it rested against the side of the chair. He then went over to Benedict and murmured a few words that were spoken too softly for Sherlock to hear from the kitchen. He watched as his brother knelt next to the child and hugged him before hastily retreating down the steps. It was a long time after he heard the front door close before he was able to gather himself together and rejoin his ward at the coffee table.

* * *

**How intriguing...wonder what is going on... So when one of you figures it out, let me know because I have no idea where this going! Haha-just kidding! I do know where this is going. :P Aaaand this is why you don't write author's notes when you're sleep deprived!**


	8. Heart to Hearts

**Hola my darlings! I am so sorry for the delay! Life has been crazy the past week and a half. The plot monkeys managed to peck out another chapter for you. Hope you enjoy!**

**Trigger Warning: non-explict mention of sexual assault (second half of the chapter if you need to skip it).**

* * *

Sherlock folded himself down onto the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, across from Benedict. The little boy smiled happily up at him and pushed a book closer to him and nudged a few crayons in his direction.

"Cowor with me?" the toddler asked hopefully.

The consulting detective just nodded as he flipped open the glossy cover of the proffered book. He resisted sighing when he saw that the theme of this coloring pad was the ridiculous purple American dinosaur. It irked him like nothing else to know that Mycroft had known the boy's preferences. It was a further thorn in his side to know that Benedict clearly liked his brother.

He was drawn out of his sulk when the little voice broke the silence. "How come you're pictuwe is so much better than mine? I can't stay in the wines wike you."

"I've had a lot more practice," Sherlock answered honestly with a tiny smile for the child. "Once you've done this as long as I have, you'll be an expert too. You just need to go a little slower once you get closer to the lines—that's all." He stretched over the table and demonstrated his point with the yellow crayon, coloring in the round orb that was supposed to signify the sun.

Benedict watched solemnly and then attempted to put this newfound knowledge into practice. While he wasn't always able to color as neatly within the lines as the consulting detective, he was doing much better than before. They stayed at this task for some time before the toddler asked how to write something out.

"I want to wite something for Daddy," he explained, frustrated. "Mummy stawted to teach me to wite befowe—befowe…" Tears welled up in his deep blue eyes. He looked away from Sherlock and sniffled, trying to remain unaffected and stoic.

Something in his chest once again tightened painfully as the genius regarded the boy. Sherlock was well aware of his own emotional retardation—if one wanted to call it that, but it disturbed him greatly to see such a young, sweet child purposefully holding back his pain for no reason. He had seen it too many times, the effects of society. Men were molded into stoic, seemingly cold and distant until something pushed them too far and they just snapped.

It scared Sherlock a little that Benedict was clearly trying to mimic this at such an early age. John was such an open, loving person and the thought that his son would try and deny that part of himself so young in the face of his loss was nothing short of confusing. The little one had broken down just yesterday when he had thought that the detective didn't like him. So what was this?

"Hey now," the genius chided gently. "If you miss you mummy, it's alright to be sad, Benedict."

There were more sniffles and a brief nod of the head, but the boy still refused to look back up at him.

"Come here," Sherlock demanded softly and motioned for the child.

Ben shuffled around the coffee table and crawled into the detective's lap and buried his face in Sherlock's dressing gown.

"Miss her," he confessed, his little voice was muffled and broken.

"It's alright to miss her. If you need to cry, cry. Don't hold back just because you think you shouldn't," Sherlock said quietly.

"You miss someone wike this?" Benedict questioned, as he reached up and grabbed a fistful of blue silk in each of his tiny hands.

Sherlock thought about how to answer that and finally replied, "Yes. A very long time ago."

"Who?"

"My grandfather. He made my life bearable as a child…I took his death quite hard."

"You think about him?"

"Every day. He was the one who got me interested in science. Bought me my first chemistry set," Sherlock told him.

Benedict nodded again, but refrained from speaking for a long time. When the toddler had calmed down some time later, Sherlock patted him on the back and said, "Come on. Let's go out and get you some books to practice your writing."

* * *

Sherlock was glad to be out of the flat. He suddenly understood why John always insisted on getting some air after they had a row. It helped to clear his head of the emotional fog that had descended on him since his little chat with his brother. _Ugh—emotions are so bothersome! Wish there was an off switch…John might not be so fond of that though…God, how did I ever get to this point?! I'm disgusted with myself._

His internal dialogue wasn't helping much at the moment. He took a deep calming breath through his nose and released it slowly through his parted lips. Benedict gave him a curious look but continued chattering on about the lady bug they had just seen on the front step of 221 just moments ago. While half listening to the toddler's stream of consciousness, the consulting detective took a second to consider their many book store options.

Personally, his favorite was Archive Bookstore on Bell Street, but he usually went there to acquire new sheet music. And while he enjoyed many an afternoon perusing their vast and unusual collection, it would not necessarily fit the main purpose of this particular outing. Crossing this shop off his mental list, he went down through the options. While he wasn't such a fan of larger chain stores, he had to admit that in this particular instance, they had their merits. The genius, without further contemplation on the subject, flagged a cab and off they were to the Waterstones bookshop on Oxford Street, as it was the closest to their flat and most likely to have what they were looking for without having to forage too much for what they were looking for.

When the two finally stepped into the shop, Sherlock inhaled deeply, relishing the smell of the newly minted tomes. There was something about the scent of a bookstore that calmed him like few other things. It was no wonder the genius had spent the majority of his years at university tucked back in the stacks of the library. That was back before things became…complicated. But it was best not to go back down that road—once in one day was far too much as it was, and especially not something he wanted to do with Benedict in his care.

As for the boy, he nearly vibrated with excitement upon entering the store and gripped Sherlock's hand tightly as he tried to drag him through the rows of books until they came to the children's section. The detective couldn't help himself. He laughed at the toddler's sheer enthusiasm and gently guided him over to the shelves that would most likely hold the writing manuals they were searching for.

It was over two hours later when they finally left the Waterstones and the genius' arms were rather full. Thankfully he never had a problem summoning a cab and this was no exception. They had managed to find several tutorials to help Benedict practice his letters. In addition, the toddler had found several books on science for children, so of course Sherlock couldn't say no. The same was said for the several volumes on bees that the boy pulled out. Perhaps it was this mutual fondness of genus Bombusthat the detective allowed the child to talk him into buying the complete set of Harry Potter books. In hardback—because_ 'books awe so much better in hawdback, Sher!' _Yes, he was a pushover. Though he wasn't sure if there was a significant difference in the fact that they had just acquired the adult boxed set…surely it didn't matter whether the cover art was slightly different? Right? He was about 95% positive the text itself would be the same.

When they were finally home, Benedict was quite excited to get back to his studies on letters. Sherlock dumped the rest of their purchase onto the kitchen table before resettling back down on the floor between the coffee table and the couch.

He was patient and calm while instructing the toddler how to correctly form each letter as they went through the practice workbook. On particularly tough letters, Ben would stick his tongue out the side of his mouth and his forehead would scrunch up in such a way that the detective was immediately reminded of the child's father. Sherlock felt a peculiar warmth spread through his body as he reevaluated yet again how very much like John the child was. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with this new feeling, so he pushed it into John's wing of his mind palace for reexamination in the future.

When the doctor returned to the flat a few hours later, he found his men diligently studying. John couldn't help but sigh in relief to find that his good fortune from yesterday had rolled over into today. He was half afraid that Sherlock would renege on his vow in regards to Benedict.

He smiled as he said, "And how are my boys doing this evening?"

Sherlock glanced up and shot him a withering look at being called a 'boy', but it soon was replaced with a fond expression. "We're fine. Just practicing letters."

John strolled over and knelt across from them on the opposite side of the coffee table. He smiled warmly at his partner and son—touched once again that Sherlock was being quite serious about his commitment to their relationship. He glanced off the side and saw the rather large stack of coloring books on the far end of the table. Without giving it much thought, the doctor picked up the one on top of the pile and started flipping through it. John was unable to contain his smirk when he came across a page that was clearly too well done to have been colored by the toddler. God—how he would have loved to see the great Sherlock Holmes sitting on the floor with a three year old coloring with crayons! That was a picture he would have loved to take for posterity. Or his blog. Either would do.

"So where did all the art supplies come from?" the doctor asked curiously.

"Uncwe Mycwoft!" Ben exclaimed, looking up from his task with a bright smile on his little face.

"_Uncle_ Mycroft, eh?"

"Yep. Is what Sher cawwed him eawier. He bwought them for me."

At that, John's eyebrows shot up and he gave his lover an amused look. "Well that was very kind of him," he responded to his child. "Did you remember to thank him?"

"Yes, I did," Benedict confirmed solemnly before returning his attention back to the dubious task of drawing out the letter G.

The doctor just giggled to himself as he pushed up from his crouched position and strolled into the kitchen to start tea. He stopped next to the table and stared down disbelieving at the pile of books now covering the surface.

"Umm…Sherlock?" John called out to his partner. "What are all these?"

Without taking his attention away from Ben, the genius answered, "Books, John. I would have thought it was obvious."

John pinched the bridge of his nose and gave an exasperated sigh. Some things never changed. "Yes, thank you—I can see that they're books."

"Your powers of observation are increasing with every passing moment!"

"What I _meant_ was _why_ are there so many of them? Ben has a whole library upstairs—" the doctor retorted through gritted teeth.

"He doesn't have _those_ particular books though," Sherlock replied calmly. He patted Benedict on the head in an affectionate manner before standing. With his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, he strolled casually into the kitchen to join his significant other.

He tried to hold onto his anger—he really did—but the detective had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and that coupled with the nonchalant posture and bare feet padding towards him had John inexplicably turned on.

Sherlock smirked knowingly as he came to stand next to his blogger. The doctor sighed again in defeat and caved, slipping his arms around the lanky genius' waist.

"Stop it!" John demanded. "I'm trying to be cross with you."

"And failing horribly," Sherlock observed, amusement lacing his voice, but he wrapped his arms around his lover nonetheless.

John tilted his head to gaze up at his partner and was awarded a soft kiss on the lips. The corners of his mouth pulled upwards as they parted. "So—books?" he tried again.

"Benedict wanted to practice his letters so we went to Waterstones get a few workbooks," was the explanation.

"And letter practice books led to the stacks of the Children's Science Series? And the complete hardback set of Harry Potter—Sherlock, this set is about a hundred pounds!" hissed the doctor.

"Well, a hundred-fifteen quid to be precise," the genius corrected. John shot him a withering look. Before his blogger could remark further, Sherlock continued, "What was I supposed to say? Benedict was so excited to be in the bookstore and he looked at me with _those_ eyes…"

"You could have said _no_," the doctor chided, but softened his tone. "Despite what everyone else may think, you do not have me fooled for one second. You, Sherlock Holmes, are nothing but a big softy."

The detective leaned over and whispered into his lover's ear, "Shh…don't let other people hear you say that—it might ruin my reputation."

Despite himself, John started to giggle which in turn set Sherlock off as well. Ben looked up from his letters and gave the men in the other room an inquisitive look, clueless as to what was so funny. After a few moments, he went back to what he was doing with a shrug of his small shoulders. _Probably just grown-up stuff_…

After several gasping breaths, they both recovered from their mirth. "So what's for dinner?" the doctor questioned.

* * *

Hours later, after Benedict had been read his bedtime story and tucked in, John trudged wearily down the stairs and flopped down on the couch next to Sherlock. The genius slipped an arm around his blogger's shoulders and pulled him closer. With a contented sigh, the doctor rested his head on Sherlock's chest. They stayed like that for some time watching Doctor Who reruns until a commercial break when John broke the silence.

"What's on your mind, love?" he asked quietly. Sherlock's answering baritone was smooth as ever, but he tightened the hold he had on John's hand fractionally.

"I'm fine. Really."

"Mmm, no. Not buying it," the doctor countered. "I know you too well. There's something that's been bothering you all night."

The detective offered him a humorless smile. "Am I that obvious? And here I thought I was hiding it so well."

"Perhaps from everyone else, yes—but not from me. I'm still your best friend, after all," John reasoned.

"And I couldn't ask for a better friend or lover," Sherlock declared and kissed the top of his blogger's head then let out a slow breath. "I had a little chat with Mycroft this morning."

"About?"

"About things I would rather forget. Seems you inquired about the state of our relationship—it was on his mind."

"I'm sorry. He's been rather forthcoming with information lately and it's something I know you're not too keen on talking about."

Another sigh before the baritone answered, "For all his faults, Mycroft is right about one thing—you do deserve to know I suppose."

"If you don't want to talk about it, I understand," John stated. "But perhaps discussing it will help to get it off your chest…"

Sherlock was silent for so long that the doctor was fairly certain that he wasn't going to get an answer. When the genius finally spoke, his voice was so low, so introspective that as close as he was, John had to lean closer to hear him.

"I was at Cambridge working on a PhD in chemistry when it all happened…my faculty advisor was a visiting professor 'on loan'—so to speak—from MIT in America…Dr. Victor Trevor—God! Was he brilliant! I was in awe of him. He was making advances in the field that put him on a very short list of the top of scientists in the world…"

"Hmm, yes—his name rings a bell. You were infatuated with him," John ventured after the detective fell silent for several minutes, lost to his memory.

"Very much so," Sherlock agreed. "Of course I wasn't the only one who noticed him…"

The meaning of that sentence quickly dawned on the doctor. "Mycroft—"

"Yes. He wasn't in his current position then, but he was still making waves on the political front even back then," confirmed the genius. "And he wasn't above using his current techniques on the people in my life back then either. So naturally when I asked to work under Victor, Mycroft 'kidnapped' him and gave him the standard run down. My dear brother was worried that the professor would return to America as soon as a better opportunity came along back in the States, leaving me without an advisor. Victor promised Mycroft that he would stay as long as it took me to get my PhD. That and he found my brother to be funny and charming. They started dating midway through my first fall semester in the program. Things were fine for awhile…Victor told Mycroft that I was the brightest student he had ever seen. My brother was so proud of me…"

"What happened?" John whispered as he reached down to interlace their fingers together.

"It was nothing at first—just chatting with me over a late dinner when we'd overwork ourselves in the lab. He was always closer to me than the other students under him because of his relationship with my brother. By the start of my third and final year of the program, he and Mycroft were quite serious. They were even talking about marriage…but then, Victor started behaving oddly around me. It wasn't anything at first—just little pats on the back when I had done something right, leaning in a little closer than was necessary when I showed him a slide, lingering eye contact…then he started to make inappropriate comments to me—and before you ask, I will not repeat them. At first, I was thrilled with the attention, but he was practically my brother's fiancé. I finally worked up the nerve to say something to Mycroft about it, after Victor had attempted to touch me in a very intimate place, but my brother ignored me—claimed I was jealous of their relationship."

Before the genius had even finished the tale, John already knew the ending. He felt slightly sick to his stomach as he listened intently to his partner's story.

"Of course Mycroft told Victor everything I had said to him," Sherlock said to his blogger. "He thought he could get away with it...he started to full out molest me—and it didn't matter where, an empty lab room, lecture hall, supply closet—anywhere he could get away with. And of _course_ no one was ever around to see it—Victor was far too clever for that."

"Seriously?! _No one_ else noticed?!" the doctor asked incredulously.

"Oh they did, believe me," the detective assured him. "My work started to slip. The other students started to notice. Dani—this feisty girl from Dublin—said something to Victor about it one day. Well, she confronted him was more like it. By this point I had tried to tell all this to Mycroft several times, but me pleas fell on deaf ears and he became very angry with me and he refused to speak to me for nearly three weeks at that point. I was just two months away from finishing my PhD… Anyway—later that night on the day Dani had confronted Victor, he showed up at my flat completely inebriated, well beyond the legal limit…"

John flinched and squeezed Sherlock's hand in support. "Oh, God!"

"I was so surprised to see him on my doorstep that he was easily able to muscle his way in without me putting up much of a fight," the genius explained. "Victor never came to my flat. Any time I saw him outside the university campus, it was always with Mycroft so as not to rouse suspicions of favoritism among the other graduate students. I also happened to live next door to an Israeli student in the program—Moshe—so Victor stayed clear…until that night, however…"

"Sherlock—what happened?" the doctor pleaded.

"He—ahem," Sherlock cleared his throat and gripped John's hand painfully as he tried to force down the emotions he had kept buried for so long. "He forced himself on me. Victor—yeah…Moshe had been home that night and heard me screaming. Somehow he had Mycroft's number and called him…when my brother finally got there, I was black and blue all over and had nearly been strangled to death. I was…bleeding heavily…he did quite a lot of damage. Required several stitches…"

John tried to suppress the rising bile burning his throat. He miraculously managed to choke back his tears, knowing that Sherlock would not appreciate the pity. When his voice was controlled enough, he finally spoke, "So that's why you can never relax enough to bottom when we have sex."

"Yes," Sherlock whispered, the remorse thick in his voice.

"God—and that's what Mycroft meant!" the doctor declared. "He said he wasn't there for you when he 'promised he would be'…"

"Had he listened to me…I'm sure my life would have turned out to be different by a great deal," the genius finished.

"You never finished your degree," it was a statement, not a question.

"No."

"And I'm guessing this is what led to the drug use?"

"Right again, Doctor."

"Oh, Sherlock…" It was John's turn to wrap his arms around his partner as the detective rested his forehead on his blogger's shoulder.

"I know Mycroft is truly sorry for the role he played in those events, but…a part of me can't bring myself to forgive him. Do you think that makes me a bad person?"

"No, I don't think it does," the doctor answered truthfully. In his time as a medical expert, John has seen many rape victims react in similar ways, either through self-inflicted harm or by turning to drugs. It was unfortunately a story he was quite familiar with. He now understood the underlying tension between the Holmes brothers and he couldn't say for himself whether or not he'd be able to forgive Harry if he were in that situation instead of his partner.

The conversation ended there, both emotionally drained. Without further comment, they both brushed their teeth and readied for bed silently. John was not surprised when Sherlock cuddled against him with his head tucked under the doctor's chin. He was the only person allowed to see the great detective so vulnerable like this, the only one the younger Holmes trusted enough to show this level of emotion in front of.

Running a soothing hand up and down Sherlock's back, John whispered terms of endearments softly into ebony curls. He made no mention of the wetness soaking through the collar of his tee-shirt.


	9. Uncle Greg

**I am so, so sorry guys! I'm in the process of trying to pack up my apartment, so that's been taking up a large portion of my time. That, and I think Benedict and the plot monkeys decided to stay on the beach and play in the sand that day I went down to the shore with Captain Evil...but rest assured-we found them!**

**Don't worry, the next chapter is done and just needs to be reviewed so you won't have to wait as long for the next one! So without further adieu-here's the next chapter! **

* * *

It had been several weeks since that heart rendering conversation had taken place. Sherlock seemed much more at peace with the world than John had ever seen him. And it had seemed that the Holmes brothers were trying to patch up their shredded relationship, however slow of a progression it was turning out to be. There had been some weird underlying tension between them lately that was different from their normal level, but the doctor supposed that you couldn't just undue nearly ten years of damage over night.

Besides that, John was bloody exhausted. Dr. Carls' condition from the car accident had turned out to be much worse than they had all anticipated so John had taken over his shifts at the clinic officially. And when he wasn't there, he was home while Sherlock continued to take on cases. It was their bad misfortune that Mrs. Hudson had decided a couple months back to plan several holidays within this short period. Of course, Benedict wasn't in their lives at the time and the boys wouldn't begrudge their beloved landlady her much needed rest. She did offer to cancel these last few trips, but John had insisted she go, knowing that they would manage somehow.

The downside was that John rarely was able to assist his partner on cases as of late. He missed the adventure and excitement—the thrill of the chase. The doctor missed spending time with Lestrade too. They hadn't had a night out at the pub in ages.

So this was the state of things when Greg called Sherlock's mobile early one evening. The consulting detective happened to be in the shower, so John answered the call.

"Hello, Greg!"

"John! Where have you been, mate?! Haven't seen you in ages!"

"I know. Life has been a little crazy lately," the doctor told him.

"So Sherlock said—but that doesn't explain why you've been hiding away," Lestrade accused. "You've been around before while working at the clinic at the same time."

"Has he not told you?!"

"Told me what? He said you two had been busy at home, I just assumed he meant something else…"

"Ah, well…what's been keeping me busy is a three-and-a-half year old little boy," John responded.

"You guys adopt?! Kind of soon into your relationship, isn't it? Not that I'm judging."

The doctor laughed at that in spite of himself. "No, not exactly. Umm…turns out that I have a son."

"Seriously?! Since when? With whom?!"

"Yes—seriously. As to when, I found out a little over a month and a half ago. And with whom, an old friend from uni I met up with while I was on leave before my last deployment," John answered.

"Well, how 'bout that? Congrats, mate. Your little one have a name?"

"Benedict. You should stop by and meet him," suggested the doctor. He silently padded down the hall to glance into the sitting room to assure himself that the child in question was still sitting at the coffee table coloring.

"Are you going to be there if I come by tonight? I actually need Sherlock to look at some evidence for me," Greg asked.

"Yeah—we're here, so feel free to stop by," John advised.

He could hear then smile in the DI's voice as he replied, "Alright then. I'll be by in twenty."

"Kay. See you soon," the doctor said and hung up the phone.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom wrapped in his blue dressing gown, toweling off his hair. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh—Greg," John answered. "He's dropping by to go over some evidence on that case you're working."

"Excellent! That will save me the trip," the genius declared.

"I thought you loved going down to the Yard," the older man asked, confused.

"I do," Sherlock stated as he stepped into John's personal space and wrapped his arms around his blogger, "but not when I could be spending that time with you."

The doctor gazed up at his partner with unveiled affection. "Are you the same man I moved in with nearly four years ago? Because I'm pretty sure he would have not just said that, The Work being all important, as it were…"

With an elegant shrug of his shoulders, the consulting detective replied, "My priorities have changed slightly."

A burst of happiness shot through his chest at that simple utterance. John glanced back at Benedict one more time before he pulled his lover into their bedroom and quietly shut the door behind them. Not having much time before the DI arrived, they were limited in their options.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock questioned as his blogger pushed him to sit down on the bed.

The doctor untied the belt of the genius' dressing gown and pushed the fabric aside to reveal the smooth, porcelain skin beneath. He parted Sherlock's knees and slid to the floor between them before leaning forward and swallowing the detective down in one swift move.

Sherlock threw his head back and gasped in surprise as he wound his long fingers into John's short blond hair. "Oh, God! _JustlikethatJohn!_" he moaned. "Not—not complaining, but what's this for?"

John didn't answer. He kept at his task licking and sucking until he could feel the genius' thighs quiver and that sharp intake of breath that warned him Sherlock was close.

The consulting detective came with his partner's name on his lips. He felt boneless and tired as he detangled his hands from John's head. His blogger had a smug grin on his face as he rose up slightly to offer Sherlock a kiss.

"That," John stated, "was for saying just the right thing."

Sherlock smiled back at him and ran his thumb over the doctor's swollen lips. "I see. So sentiment pays off, does it? I will remember that—especially if it gets me a spectacular blow job."

John was about to reply when they heard Ben hollering from the other room. "Door! Someone's hewe!"

They both looked at each other and laughed as the older man pushed himself up to standing position. He smoothed his hair down as best he could before stepping back out into the sitting room. Greg glanced at him as he cautiously poked his head around the doorway.

"Mrs. Hudson let me up," Lestrade explained. "I didn't want to just barge in."

"No worries," John assured him and waved the DI in. "You know you're always welcome here—barring if the door is locked, mind you."

"That's precisely why I was hesitant! Didn't want to catch the two of you sha—um, together…in an awkward situation," Greg caught himself just in time, remembering that there was a toddler in the flat.

John motioned for his friend to sit in the leather chair as he took his wingback seat opposite. As Lestrade sat down, the doctor waved for his son to come over. The little boy sprang up from his new task and darted to John's side, wrapping his arms around his father's leg and rested his head on John's knee. He smiled affectionately down at the toddler and ran his fingers through the boy's baby fine curls.

"Ben, Sweetheart, this is a good friend of Daddy and Sherlock's," the doctor explained. "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade."

The DI leaned forward and held out his hand to the toddler. "Ben, is it? It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Sensing that he could trust this man without reservation, Benedict relinquished his hold on his father and slid his tiny hand into Lestrade's. "Nice to meet you, Detective Inspector."

Lestrade laughed as he curled his fingers around the boy's. "Aw, come now! Your dad and I have been mates for some time—no need to be so formal, lad. You can call me 'Uncle Greg' if you like."

Ben glanced back at his father to make sure this was acceptable. John nodded encouragingly at his son who turned back to the DI and said, "Okay. Hi Uncwe Gweg. Daddy, can I go pway with my bwocks?"

John nodded and answered, "Of course, love." Both men sat quietly as they watched the boy bounce away and plop down in the middle of the floor to attend to his brightly colored building blocks.

"Blimey…" Greg said after a moment. "I can see you in him—but are you sure that he's not somehow genetically Sherlock's as well? He didn't manage to clone himself for real this time…right?"

He couldn't help it; the doctor had to laugh at the query. "No, I'm sure that Ben is not genetically linked to Sherlock in any way—believe me."

"But that doesn't mean I can't teach him a thing or two," the man in question stated as he came into the sitting room buttoning his cuffs.

Greg looked up at the genius and grinned knowingly. "Of that I have no doubt. We're all going to be in trouble if he picks up any of your habits!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock sniffed and perched on the arm of John's chair. "It's quite obvious even at this early age that Benedict has a brilliant mind that I will ensure is cultivated properly. As far as him picking up some of my less endearing traits, you have no need to worry, Detective Inspector. He is very much John's son—and that alone will go a long way towards balancing out any…undesirable…effects I have on his young mind."

The DI stared dumbfounded at his consulting friend. The thought of the lanky genius being so at ease with such a young child was startling. He guiltily admitted that he had never thought that Sherlock would be the parenting type, but the way he looked at the little boy was identical to John's—a devoted, loving father. Something he had said to the doctor years ago echoed back to him now in light of observing this new side of Sherlock: _he's a great man and some day—if we're very, very lucky—he might even be a good one_… It looked like the doctor and his son were well on their way to making that happen.

His contemplation was cut short, however, when that intensive gaze swiveled back to zero in on him. "John said you wanted me to have another look at some of the evidence on this on-going case?" the consulting detective inquired.

"Oh…right…" Greg replied, suddenly remembering what had brought him by Baker Street in the first place. He turned to reach for the folder he had set down on the end table next to his chair. The edge of the file grazed his finger just the right way, giving him a deep paper cut. "Fu—ah fudge!" he caught himself just in time to prevent unleashing that rather heavy curse in the presence of a child. Unfortunately, the folder slipped to the floor and several of the crime scene photos fluttered around the sitting room carpet.

Being the curious little boy that he was, Benedict crawled closer to the nearest one and gazed at it with unveiled interest. Sherlock heard the low groan from his partner and immediately jumped up to rectify the situation. Seeing as how they had already discussed things that were inappropriate for the toddler—and crime scenes were one of those things—the detective wanted to keep his lover happy. A happy John meant a happy (and carnally satisfied) Sherlock.

"That wooks impowtant!" Ben exclaimed and pointed to something in the photograph.

The genius bent over to examine what the toddler had discovered. His eyes widened in shocked surprise and he glanced at the boy. "Good work, Benedict! You clever, clever boy!" He ruffled the child's hair before kissing him on the forehead. The consulting detective then turned to the DI and scolded, "Lestrade—how could you possibly have missed this?!"

"Me?!" Greg cried out indignantly, "What about you?! You were at the bloody crime scene too—how did _you_ manage to miss it?!"

"The wife had a seven year old daughter," Sherlock defended himself, "of course there were things lying around that would be for little girls! But this—this…Lestrade—go back to the house and find this jewelry box! Behind the music component you will find the evidence you need to prove that it was the husband behind the murder."

Greg passed a weary hand over his eyes and sighed, "Christ. If what I need is there, it will be enough to put this bastard away for life. I'm gonna need a drink after this one."

Sherlock scooped up the fallen photographs and handed them to the DI and said, "Well then, go collect your evidence and arrest your man, Inspector. I imagine that you should be able to meet John around the corner at Finnegan's for a pint by eight o'clock if you leave now."

Lestrade accepted the pictures and turned to the doctor with a raised eyebrow, a silent question.

"I could go for a Guinness," John confessed. "Text me when you're done—I'll meet you at the pub." Greg nodded in agreement and hurried down the stairs.

With a smug expression on his face, the consulting detective reclaimed his leather chair and picked up the book of fairy tales sitting on the end table. He had gotten into the habit of reading the stories before introducing them to Benedict, lest bedtime story hour became a disaster like the incident last week when they had read _The Little Mermaid_. Sherlock was unaware that the Disney film version had deviated drastically from the original tale written by Hans Christian Andersen. It had given the poor boy nightmares. _Won't make _that_ mistake again_, he thought, leafing through the pages.

John watched his partner curiously. It seemed that Sherlock was full of surprises this evening. The offer for a pub night and now the screening of bedtime stories—he would have never imagined the genius could be so…domestic...before now. It was amazing. The doctor had seen the exact moment when Greg had realized that Sherlock had changed…_speaking of which_…

"Are you sure you don't mind if I go meet Greg for a pint?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced over the top of the book at his blogger. "Of course I don't mind, John. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. I'm sure both you and the good Detective Inspector could use one of your night outs."

The older man blinked rapidly several times as he tried to absorb what his partner had just said. "That's very thoughtful of you, Sherlock. Thank you. Are you sure you'll be alright tonight if I go out?"

"I think we'll manage," the detective stated with a smirk before turning to the toddler. "Won't we?"

Benedict nodded enthusiastically, thrilled at the idea of spending the night with Sherlock. They were able to get up to all sorts of fun things when his daddy wasn't around to scold his Sher.

John just shook his head and laughed. Lord only knew what the two of them got up to without supervision…maybe he should ask Mycroft about those hidden cameras that definitely weren't in the flat. Perhaps if he hid them, he'd do a better job keeping them from Sherlock than the elder Holmes' minions…that was something to contemplate later.

"Shall I fix dinner then?" the doctor asked aloud as he stood and retreated into the kitchen. Since his back was turned, he missed the conspiratorial looks that passed between his son and his boyfriend.

* * *

True enough to Sherlock's earlier words, the DI texted John at quarter to eight to say he had made his arrest and he was on his way to Finnegan's. The doctor shrugged into his light weight jacket and kissed his boys goodbye before joining their friend at the pub.

"God, I've missed this!" Greg groaned as he slid into the booth opposite John.

"I know! It's been nearly two months since we went out the last time," the doctor responded as a shapely ginger placed their drinks on the table between them. They thanked her but ignored her otherwise.

"I can't believe you have a son!" the DI exclaimed with a grin. "I'm _still_ trying to wrap my head around it!"

"There are some days that even I can't believe it either," John confessed and took a large gulp of his stout. "I'm surprised that Mycroft didn't say something to you about Ben."

An odd expression flitted across Lestrade's face, but it was gone before the doctor had a chance to examine it more closely. "Yeah, well…he's a tight-lipped bugger when he wants to be."

"I would have thought that he would have told you though, given the way he positively dotes upon the kid," John told his mate.

Greg snorted into his beer and replied, "Oh I doubt that it's all to do with Benedict—as charming as the little guy is."

With a frown, John asked, "What are you on about?"

The DI stared at him like Sherlock did so often when he managed to miss the obvious points of an investigation. "Please tell me you're joking! Wow—you really have no idea do you?"

"No idea about _what_?" the doctor asked, slightly agitated. What was it that he was missing? Sherlock and now Greg—they both seemed to know something he didn't. And it was annoying him.

"You're both my best mates," Lestrade said cautiously, "I don't want to get in the middle of this. Seriously."

John crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared over the wooden expanse of the table that separated them. It was his infamous Captain Watson stare down that had sent chills of terror into many a young cadet's heart back in the day. He didn't need to say anything.

Sighing dejectedly, the DI finally answered, "I can't believe that you of all people don't recognize when someone's attracted to you."

"Oh come on!" John scoffed. "Mycroft's been a bit friendlier lately, but that certainly doesn't mean that he's attracted to me."

"No, perhaps not—but when you have it straight from the horse's mouth, it's hard to discount," Lestrade countered.

The doctor gave his friend a horrified look. "You're serious, aren't you? Oh, God! Greg—I'm sorry…"

The DI shrugged and said, "S'not your fault, mate. But if you're wondering why Sherlock's been in a piss poor mood about his sodden brother lately—that's why."

"So you've talked to Sherlock about this then?"

"A little, yeah. It was bothering him something fierce about a week ago. Figured something must of happened."

"Oh! It did!" John moaned and hid his face behind his hands.

"Alright, Johnny—you gonna tell me, or do I have to sit here all night guessing?" Greg wanted to know.

"The 'Gift Wars' is what's happened."

"Excuse me? What?"

"The Gift Wars is what I've been calling it," the doctor explained as he sat back against the vinyl cushion of the seat. "It started about a week after Ben came to live with us. It was innocent enough at first, but… Mycroft brought over a stack of coloring books one morning. That afternoon, Sherlock thought it necessary to buy out half the children's section of Waterstones."

"Well, that's not so bad…" Lestrade ventured.

"I have all seven Harry Potter books in a hard back set now."

"Oh."

"All because 'Ben' wanted them."

"Not thinking this is so bad, mate…"

"Alright, how about this?" John asked and leaned closer. "They've been doing this back and forth over the past few weeks—driving me positively mental! But when it was small stuff, I couldn't really care. I was willing to forget the whole book thing… it's also trips the sweet shop or bakery. New clothes or stuffed animals. Then last week, Sherlock bought Ben a children's chemistry set."

Lestrade downed the rest of his lager and shook his head. "I'm with you so far, but seems reasonable—Sherlock buying the kid that. Right up his street and all."

"Mycroft went and got Ben a violin the next day."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"How did _that_ go over?"

John flagged the waitress down and ordered another round before turning back to his companion to continue his tale of woe. "Sherlock was in a right foul mood for three days."

"Wait—hang on! That happened on Wednesday, didn't it?" Greg questioned.

"Yes it did," confirmed the doctor.

"Huh," the DI said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well—that explains a lot. He came by the Yard and gave me the usual run down of things my team had missed at the crime scene but then he started prattling on about how much of a git Mycroft was…now I know why!"

"You nearly had another murder on your hands," the doctor confessed in a hushed tone.

"Are you kidding? If those two went at it full force, it would be more like a double homicide," Lestrade corrected with a giggle, which John readily joined in.

"But seriously," the doctor replied, sobering up. "Can you do something to distract Mycroft?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Greg! Use your body or something!"

"You're suggesting I should seduce Mycroft Holmes like I'm a man-whore?!"

"Yes-no! Not like that!" John exclaimed. He was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. "Can't you snog him senseless or something?"

That earned him a reproachful look. "Besides you, he's my best friend! You just don't randomly snog your mates unless you're an adolescent girl!"

"And you have a lot of personal experience with that, do you?" the doctor asked with barely contained mirth.

"John Watson!" Greg scolded, trying to keep a stern face. The effect was lost when they both burst out laughing at the same time.

* * *

It was well past eleven when John crept back into the flat. He was in much better spirits than he had been in a while. The good doctor loved his son—he really did, but caring for a child was absolutely exhausting! Not that he would have it any other way, but it was nice just to get out have a drink with his best mate—well, the best mate he wasn't currently sleeping with.

John was careful to avoid the squeaky board on the third step from the top and unlocked the door to their sitting room quietly. The only light was from the lamp on the end table next to the genius' chair. As he removed his jacket, the doctor scanned the room and stopped at the sight that greeted him. He smiled and had to take a moment to catch his breath.

Sherlock was lying on his back on the couch with Benedict nestled against his chest. The detective's right arm was wrapped around the toddler's little body, holding him securely in place even in sleep while the left dangled over the edge of the cushion onto the floor where it was gripping the heavy book of fairy tales.

He snapped a couple of pictures with his phone before he went and retrieved a blanket from the linen cupboard. John draped the quilt over the two and gently removed the book from his lover's grasp. Subconsciously, Sherlock brought his freed left hand up to cradle the back of Ben's head.

Choking back a sob, John brushed curls off of one forehead and placed a kiss there in its place and then repeated the process with the other. He stood staring down at them for several long moments before finally taking himself off to bed.

* * *

**My sincerest thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! And Thank you, Captain Evil for the reread and for helping to fill in the missing pieces. :)**


	10. The Gift Wars

**Yay! It didn't take me nearly three weeks to update again!**

* * *

It had been an exhausting few months, the doctor thought to himself. He checked the time on his computer monitor and silently willed it to work faster. It wasn't that he did not enjoy his job at the clinic—he loved it in fact—but a poor bloke just needed a break every now and then! Between Benedict, Sherlock, the cases, and his actual job, John was ready for a nice long holiday.

Luckily, Dr. Carls had made a fully recovery after his nasty accident and had returned to work at the clinic. Technically, they no longer needed the help from one ex-army doctor, but Sarah kept finding reasons to keep him on. The other medical professionals on staff were equal parts thrilled and relieved that John was staying. Not only was he damn good at his job, but his help went a long way to smooth over any tension between the rest of the staff. Not that she had informed anyone else yet, but Sarah was contemplating making John an offer for a partnership in the practice. He was just the type of person the clinic needed in order to run efficiently. She chalked it up to his army training.

The only thing that had stayed her hand thus far from discussing this offer with him was Sherlock and Ben. Obviously if his partner or child were sick, she would insist that he attend their needs first before coming to the job. Though the consulting detective was the reason that Sarah had been forced to let John go the first time he had worked with her. But to be fair, that was ages ago at this point and both men were different people than they were now. Since the initial hiring and firing of the doctor, John had come in and done locum work for her on many occasions with satisfactory results. Perhaps what the couple had needed was this little boy to come in and shake up their world like he had so evidently done. The last few times Sherlock had stopped by the clinic to see John, he had actually been smiling and was bordering on being downright cordial…

_You can teach an old dog new tricks_, she thought to herself with a smile as she silently observed John from the doorway to his office. Whatever was going through his head, he was completely unaware of her presence.

"You look positively beat," Sarah finally said aloud, surprising her companion out of his reverie.

His head whipped around and he pressed a hand to his chest. "Oh, God! You startled me, Sarah!"

Grinning, she responded, "Sorry, sorry. That wasn't my intention really. You look like you could use a few days to yourself. Why don't you take off the rest of the afternoon? We've got it well under control here. There's only a handful of patients left on the books, so there's no sense in all of us being here and being miserable."

"Are you sure?" John asked with a hopeful expression on his tired face.

"Of course!" Sarah exclaimed with a nod. "Mate, you've been running yourself ragged for the past several months! God knows I'm completely in your debt—I don't know how we would have survived here without you. But I can tell that you need to relax a little, you've been working yourself to the bone. Take an early weekend and go home to your man and enjoy life a bit! That's an order, Doctor."

Without having to be told twice, John quickly filed away the remains of the paperwork on his desk and powered down his computer under Sarah's watchful eyes.

"Thank you so much," he said sincerely as he closed the door this office. He kissed her on the cheek and was out of the clinic before she had the chance to change her mind.

John was thrilled to have been let out of work at three o'clock on that Friday afternoon. There were all sorts of plans running through his head. Maybe he and the genius could take Ben out for an early dinner, or a nice walk in the park since it was such a gorgeous early summer day in June. John was surprised again, however, when he returned home to an empty flat. He was in the middle of sending a text to Sherlock when the man himself came through the front door.

The doctor turned just as his lover entered the sitting room. "Where's Ben?" he asked.

Sherlock was just about to answer when the front door opened again.

"…was awesome! Can we do that again?" a little voice floated up from the stairwell.

Mycroft's distinctive laugh followed. "Yes, I believe that might actually be a possibility. She was most impressed with you, young man!"

John's eyebrows shot up as he took in the sight of his son being carried in by his uncle—in a complete matching three piece suit of his own.

"Really, Mycroft?" Sherlock questioned with a hint of distain.

The elder Holmes just shrugged as best he could with a toddler in his arms. "We had an important engagement for which little Benedict needed to be dressed properly."

"Why was Ben with your brother?" the doctor asked his partner.

The consulting detective gave him a withering look as he responded, "You made me promise not to take Benedict to a crime scene. Lestrade was in desperate need of assistance, Mrs. Hudson is out of town visiting her sister, the only other person I knew I could entrust his care to was Mycroft."

John nodded, glad that Sherlock had the common sense not to leave his child unattended. He took Ben from the elder Holmes. As he settled him on his hip, he asked, "So what have you been up to today, then?"

Beaming from ear to ear, Benedict declared, "Spent the day with Uncwle Mycwoft!"

"Yes, he was quite the sensation today. Everyone adored him," the politician told the doctor.

"So did you enjoy Whitehall?" John pressed.

Ben frowned and shook his head. "Nope—no Whitehawl. We went to the pawace!"

"Wh-what?"

"We had tea with the queen!" the toddler clapped his hands excitedly. "She's a nice wady. Said she wikes your bwog. What's a bwog, Daddy? She said her favowite was 'The Cawdboawd Box'."

He turned his little body around to ask Mycroft, "She wikes shoe boxes?"

Mycroft burst out laughing. "No, Benedict. A 'blog' is like an online journal entry that other people can see. Your father writes up a blog after each case he and Sherlock solve. 'The Cardboard Box' was the title of a case they worked on a while back. That is what her majesty was referring to—not an actual box."

"Ooohhh! I get it!" Ben acknowledged with a nod.

For his part, John had paled considerably. It was one thing for Mycroft to take his son to Whitehall and an entirely different matter to have him at Buckingham Palace of all places—and to have tea with the queen! _Mycroft must be mental_…

"Her majesty was most impressed with young Benedict," Mycroft informed him. "There is no need to worry, John. In fact, I would not be surprised if you received an invitation to join her for tea in the near future."

"Oh God…" the doctor declared weakly.

Mycroft realized that perhaps informing John of this at the present moment wasn't the best timing, seeing as how he looked rather worn out. Best if he took the doctor's mind off of it… "I have reservations this evening at Balthazar's, if you care to join me," he offered nonchalantly, hoping not to offend his younger brother with the invitation.

"Hmm, that would be excellent," Sherlock replied with a quirk of the lip. "John is rather fond of their food, as I recall."

"You've been there?" the elder Holmes asked in surprise. "How ever did you manage that, Sherlock? It's taken _me_ weeks to get a reservation!"

The consulting detective just shrugged and replied, "I know the chef. He owed me a favor."

_Of course he did_, Mycroft thought with a laugh.

Without further fanfare, they all piled into the politician's waiting car. Dinner, for a change, was quite pleasant with the Holmes brothers. The conversation flowed freely and for John it was a nice change to see Sherlock and Mycroft getting along. He could only pray that it would last. Somehow, he doubted it.

The weekend was nice and peaceful as was the following week, sans the suspicious delivery of a large crate that arrived from Wedgwood on Thursday. That Saturday night, Mrs. Hudson took Benedict for the evening and they had a little sleepover so that John and Sherlock could have some time alone. Greg had phoned shortly after 'Nana'—as Ben had taken to calling Martha—had disappeared with the toddler to invite John out for pint, but he turned it down to spend the night with his lover. The genius then managed to surprise his blogger again on Sunday morning with breakfast in bed. Monday morning, the doctor strolled into the clinic with a wide grin and in the highest of spirits. Unfortunately, his good fortune lasted only until that evening.

There was an unusual amount of commotion and excitement emanating from the sitting room as John climbed the steps up to their flat. He was _not_ expecting or prepared for the site that greeted him upon opening the door.

Sherlock and Benedict were sitting in the middle of the floor with a puppy barking and around them happily as the two taunted him with an old sock. Both looked up at the doctor with matching expressions of glee.

"Oh, John—you're home a little early tonight aren't you?" the detective asked with feigned innocence.

"Umm, no," the doctor corrected. "I'm home around my normal time. What's going on here, Sherlock?"

"Look who decided to follow us home from our walk in the park this afternoon," Sherlock said with a smile. At least he had the good grace to look somewhat guilty.

"Daddy, can we keep him?" Ben asked with a hopeful tone as he scooped the dog up to his chest.

John looked down at his son holding the squirming bull pup in his arms. God help him—one of them was bad enough, but the both of them… "Damnit!" John exclaimed. "I'm completely hopeless. I can't say no to either of you!"

"Really, John, you obviously never stood a chance in the first place," Sherlock replied with that annoying smirk he solely reserves for when he's made his most brilliant deductions.

The doctor sighed in defeat. This was definitely a lost argument. Though he supposed that every little lad deserved a dog…

God, he needed that drink now! With a shake of the head, he trailed off down the hall to their bedroom. With a sigh, he pulled out his mobile and rang Lestrade's office line.

The DI answered on the second ring. "Hey! John! What's going on?"

"Greg, you busy tonight?"

"Nope. Tonight's your lucky night! It's been quiet all day, so I'm free."

"Great because I really need that drink now…"

"Oh no—what has Sherlock done now?"

"Meet me at Finnegan's in about an hour and I'll tell you," John responded through gritted teeth.

"You got it, mate. I'll meet you there," Greg said and hung up.

John tossed his mobile on the bed and stripped out of his trousers and shimmied into a nice worn and faded pair of jeans. While he was at it, he changed into a fresh shirt and sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. The doctor closed his eyes and focused on breathing slowly. He loved Sherlock, he really did, but he just might kill him. _Wonder if this constitutes justifiable homicide…perhaps I can get Greg to help me hide the body—ooh! Better yet, Mycroft…he'll understand and it will never be traced back to me_…

After repeating the periodic table of elements for the fifth time his head, the door creaked open and he heard the light footsteps of his partner approach.

"John?" Sherlock asked softly. There was a dip in the mattress as the genius sat down next to him.

The doctor didn't reply other than taking a deep breath through his nose.

"I suppose this is one of those things that's a bit not good, right?"

"Yes, Sherlock, you're correct," John affirmed tersely.

"Will it help if I say I'm sorry?" the younger man asked timidly—not at all like his typical self.

"It depends," the doctor answered with a sigh, "on if you know what you're apologizing for."

"Yes, I should have called you before bringing the dog home," Sherlock responded quietly.

John gave a humorless laugh and stated, "Yeah—you should have. Do you know how bloody infuriating it is to have your partner and kid team up against you on something like this? Or what it's like to have your partner and his brother or your partner and _anyone_ else do this to you?"

"No."

"No—you're right, you don't," John hissed. "And do you know why you don't know what that's like? Because _I_ would never do this to you, Sherlock! I would never just ambush you like that in front of our three year old son!"

"John—"

"No! Just save it," the doctor demanded. "I'm going out to have a drink with Greg." He stood up and strode purposefully towards the bedroom door. "You know where I'll be and I will have my mobile on as always, so if you need me, you can reach me—as always."

"Please, John—"

"Sherlock, just don't," John replied. "I can't have this conversation with you now—I just can't, because if I do, I may say something I will regret. Don't make me do that to you."

He glanced over his shoulder to see the detective give a slight nod.

* * *

John sighed into his pint. "It's like they're trying to out-due each other. First it was all that mess I told you about before. Then, Mycroft takes him to have tea with the queen—the _queen_, Greg! And every time we had tea last week, all I heard was how far inferior our china was to her majesty's! And if it wasn't bad enough, after about six days of complaining, we get a delivery from Wedgwood."

"Well, that's not so bad…" the DI attempted to pacify his friend.

"No—you don't understand! It was a complete set what I'm told is their 'Cornucopia' design! It costs nearly a hundred quid a place setting! We now have an eight-piece set along with the damn matching teapot, sugar bowl, and creamer! The whole lot probably costs around thirteen-hundred!"

"Oh God."

"Yes! Now do you see? Then today I come home from the surgery to discover that my _partner_ has bought Ben a puppy!"

Lestrade couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. It was cruel to laugh at his mate's misfortune, but the situation was really just too amusing.

"Honestly, Greg—if this was happening to you, I assure that you would not find this so amusing!" John retorted with an icy glare.

Struggling to contain his amusement, Lestrade chortled and said, "You're right mate—but it's not happening to me so therefore it's bloody hilarious!"

The doctor's forehead hit the table with a thump.

* * *

His venting session with Greg had gone a long way towards cooling his temper. By the time he returned home, John was nothing more than slightly agitated. He closed and locked the door behind him before he looked up and saw Sherlock sitting on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped out in front of him.

"As we were walking home from the park past an ally, we heard the muffled sound of a puppy crying. I went to inspect the sound after Benedict begged me. He was in an old potato sack which had been tied off at the top to prevent him from escaping…he was in a skip," the consulting detective explained softly as he stared down at the coffee table. "Benedict was nearly hysterical over it, wanted me to take the poor dog to a veterinarian to ensure the puppy's health—which we did. Once he was given a clean bill of health, I thought the best thing was to bring it back here. It was that or take him to the animal shelter. I had thought that Benedict had been through enough trauma this afternoon and didn't need that on top of it."

John swallowed hard and quickly made his way to his partner's side. He reached over and took one of Sherlock's hands in his and laced their fingers together. "Oh, God. I am so, so sorry."

The corner of the genius' lip quirked up in a humorless smile as he replied, "I tried to do what you would have thought was the right thing."

"And you did," the doctor assured him and kissed their joined hands. "I was an idiot. If I had just let you explain…God. I made a complete arse of myself. Sherlock, I'm sorry. You are a good man—you know that? I couldn't ask for a better partner. Can you forgive me?"

"You know you never have to ask for my forgiveness. It's given without question," the younger man whispered as he turned to face his blogger for the first time.

John released Sherlock's hand in favor of wrapping his arms around his lover. The detective eagerly leaned into the embrace, tucking his head into the doctor's neck.

They sat like that for several long moments before John broke the silence. "So…a dog, huh?"

"Only if you say you want to keep him," Sherlock assured him.

"But Ben's attached, isn't he?"

"He was attached the moment he heard the poor thing in the alley."

"Speaking of it—where is the dog?" the doctor asked.

He heard the smile in his partner's voice as he answered, "Currently, he's sleeping on Benedict's pillow."

John laughed in spite of himself. "Has he been named yet?"

"Well, Benedict has taken to calling him Gladstone…" Sherlock told him.

"Gladstone? Really? After the statesman from the 1800's?" the doctor was intrigued.

"Honestly I have no idea," confessed the genius.

"Well, it looks like we're going to need to go pick up some supplies from the pet store tomorrow then," John stated as he stood and pulled Sherlock up with him. "I have a half shift in the morning—I'll be done by one, we can go then."

The consulting detective led them into the bathroom to brush their teeth. "Benedict is going to be like a kid in a candy store."

"I imagine so—he is only three after all…" the doctor reminded him.

"Hmm, closer to four now," Sherlock countered as they headed into their bedroom. "But that's a discussion that can wait until morning—I'm bloody exhausted. Dealing with all these emotions is physically draining. How ever do you manage?"

John slipped under the sheets next to his partner and kissed him on the lips before answering, "By taking it one step at a time."

* * *

**So this might be odd-or not, but I have an awesome collection of vintage tea cups and saucers (a cup and saucer set in a whole bunch of awesome patterns :D completely mismatched, by the way). I've been contemplating buying an actual full (matching) set and I've discovered that I am rather fond of Wedgwood for whatever reason. The 'Cornucopia' line is an actual pattern and is rather lovely (if anyone's interested in seeing what it looks like, just Google it). I love the design, but when I saw the price-which is actually around $1,300 American dollars for the set I described above, I quickly changed my mind :P **

**I thought to myself, "Self, we can buy the tea set or pay for half of your upcoming trip to London..." so guess which option I chose? Though John and Sherlock now have a nice new set!**


	11. Confessions

**Lots of domesticated Sherlock in this chapter. Who knew he had it in him? :)**

* * *

Sherlock glanced down at his watch yet again. It was late, later than he had first initially thought. John had called well over three hours ago to say that he had an emergency at the clinic and had to accompany a patient to the A&E. The consulting detective had tried to keep Benedict occupied up until now, but it was clearly beyond the boy's bedtime. He knew the toddler was hoping to stay up until his father returned home, but as the minutes crept into hours, there really was no choice except to send him off to bed.

With a sigh, Sherlock levied himself out of his chair and motioned for the child to follow him. "Come, Benedict. We need to get you ready for bed. Time for your bath."

Ben frowned up at him, but set his little violin bow down on the coffee table next to the genius' and trotted after him into the loo, followed by Gladstone. His tiny fingers struggled with the buttons on his shirt as he attempted to undo them. Normally, the boy just wore polo's or tee-shirts—something easy to slip on and off, but he was rather enamored with Mycroft and Sherlock's respective wardrobes. It also helped that the brothers had not only encouraged this fascination, but had also bought him tons of similar things on his request. He gave a frustrated whine when fidgeting with the closures did not yield the positive result he was hoping for.

The detective was kneeling beside the tub with his hand under the faucet making sure that the water temperature wasn't too hot for the toddler. When he heard Ben's whimper, he jerked his head around to find the boy struggling to get out of his shirt. With one final glance at the water level in the tub, Sherlock blindly grabbed for a towel to dry off his hands before reaching over to help.

"Here," he said softly as he long, nimble fingers assisted with the irksome buttons. "Just like this—see?"

Benedict just nodded as he stared down at Sherlock's hands completing the task he couldn't. The genius smirked over the full concentration the child was affording him. At the same time, he also berated himself silently because it was blatantly obvious that the toddler was overly tired. And a sleepy Ben made for a cranky Ben in his experience. But it was his own fault for not sending the child to bed long before now.

Sherlock helped Benedict out of his trousers and pants while the boy leaned heavily against him, nearly dead on his feet. "We'll be quick with your washing and then we'll get you into bed, I promise," he declared soothingly as he lifted the toddler into the hot water. The puppy watched the whole proceeding with what appeared to be bored interest from his place several steps away where he was sprawled out on the cool tiles of the floor.

"You stiwl wead me a stowy?" Ben asked hopefully as he waved his hands through the water.

With a chuckle, the detective nodded as he brushed the soapy flannel down one little arm and then the next. He knew that there was no way he was getting out of reading the obligatory bedtime story. He had given up that fight several months ago anyhow. It had become a part of their routine and Sherlock found that he really didn't mind it so much. He did, however, like it best when John was home with him and they read to the child together. When that wasn't an option, he carried on with the nighttime schedule. _Since when have I become so domesticated?_ he thought. _Lestrade and the lot down at the Yard would be shocked to see me like this…can't be helped. I'd do anything to keep John happy. Really—would I? Hmm…very interesting…it seems I would…you already know you can't/won't live without him…_

As promised, he made short work of bath time and had Ben wrapped in a big fluffy towel just minutes later. Without any effort, Sherlock lifted his charge up into his arms and carried him up to his bedroom. Ben sighed contently as he rested his head against the genius' shoulder. The boy closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, breathing in the wonderful scent of Sherlock's cologne. It was warm and familiar and was one that he had quickly over the past few months come to associate with home.

Sherlock managed to suppress a laugh as he heard and felt that little intake of breath. He knew what Benedict was doing. The boy had on more than one account commented on how much he liked the way the detective smelled. When he attempted to sit the toddler on his bed, he clung to him as if he was unwilling to relinquish the contact.

With as stern of an expression as he could manage in that instance (which was not very stern at all), Sherlock said, "Come on now—you need to get into your pajamas or there will be no bedtime story."

They both knew he was bluffing, but Ben scrambled to get redressed just the same. As he crawled under the covers with Gladstone beside him, he watched intently as the genius selected a book out of the many lining the shelves of his bedroom walls. When Sherlock finally sat back down beside him on the mattress, Benedict relaxed and let that deep baritone wash over him.

He wasn't sure how fond he was of this whole bedtime story scheme, but at least it gave him the chance to ensure that the child learned something useful. God knows that John kept trying to cram all that useless information on the solar system down his poor son's throat. Sherlock had made an exception to that book of fairy tales—they were surprisingly interesting he thought.

"Do you wuv Daddy?" Benedict bluntly asked suddenly.

Sherlock eyed him curiously for a moment before he closed the book on quantum physics he had been reading aloud from. Seeing no reason to hide the truth—for undoubtedly the toddler would know anyhow—the detective answered honestly. "Yes, I do. Very much so."

"Why don't you ever tewl him then? He wikes it when I tewl him," the child questioned innocently.

"It's…complicated…" Sherlock replied after a moment of contemplation.

"No, it's easy, Sher-Sher!" Ben insisted. "Just give him a hug and a kiss and tewl him 'I wuv you'. You can do it tonight when he gets home!"

In spite of himself, Sherlock chuckled. He was getting relationship advice from a three year old, albeit a very intelligent three year old. "Okay, when Daddy gets home, I will tell him."

Benedict nodded solemnly and grabbed for his oversized teddy bear. As the little boy snuggled further under his Union Jack quilt, Sherlock helped to tuck it around his tiny form. He was sure the conversation was over when:

"Are you gonna weave us?"

Blinking in surprise, Sherlock assured him, "No. Why?"

"If you and Daddy got mawried, you'd stay with us fowever. I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Benedict. I promise."

"'Kay. Want you to be my daddy too. Wuv you, Sher," Ben said in a sleepy voice.

Sherlock felt a surge of affection for this little child. Smiling softly, he leaned down and kissed Benedict on his forehead. "I love you, too. Sleep tight."

He sat there for several long minutes, just watching the rhythmic cadence of the rise and fall of the toddler's chest as he slipped into slumber. Ever since John had entered his life, everything had been turned upside down. Without him realizing it, his blogger had become indispensible to him, like the need to breathe or, as a mad psychopathic genius once said, like his heart. Sherlock did love John, more than anything. The doctor had made Sherlock realize that there were things he didn't know he had wanted until they were already deeply entrenched in his life.

Things like a true partner, someone on whom he could thoroughly rely. God knows he certainly never entertained a romantic relationship before it smacked him the face quite suddenly (or not so suddenly, in actuality). Since he had originally planned to spend his life alone with just the work, raising a family was something he never considered. But now, sitting here watching his lover's son, it dawned on Sherlock that this was something he very much wanted.

Stunned by this unexpected revelation, the detective quietly crept out of the boy's room. He left the door open just a crack in the event that Benedict had a nightmare—better to hear him than through the fully closed door. He was so wrapped up in his own head that initially failed to see John standing at the base of the stairwell.

Sherlock stopped on the third step from the top and stared down at his blogger. The doctor was gripping the banister tightly and his expression was reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights. It was then that the consulting detective realized that John must have overheard their conversation. Mentally scanning back over the scene in his mind palace, he discovered that he failed to register the slight creak of the floorboards on the landing just outside Benedict's room. _Of course—John had just gotten home and would have immediately sought out his child and lover_, the genius's mind supplied.

John cleared his throat and asked, "Ah, is-is Ben asleep then?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, then…" the doctor turned to leave.

"Wait—John!" Sherlock called after him. He descended the last several steps hastily and reached out a hand to grab his partner's shoulder.

The doctor turned back around and gave him an empathetic look. "It's alright. You don't have to say—"

"I love you, John. I think I always have. Since that night you shot the cabbie."

John wrapped his arms around his partner with an internal sigh of relief. "I love you, too, you big softy."

* * *

He threw his head back into the pillows as he gasped for air.

"_Oh God_! Just like that!"

"Mmm. _Christ_, after all this time you're still so tight!"

Sherlock gazed down at John's straining form beneath him. His doctor was flushed and panting, gripping the detective's hands as if they were a lifeline. John, who was always so mild-mannered in public, was coming completely undone by Sherlock's private administrations.

Suddenly they seemed too far apart. If the genius could have crawled inside of his lover to wear him like a second skin, he would have. He needed to be deeper, needed more contact, needed to possess John, to own him.

Without warning, Sherlock sat back on his heels, pulling John up with him, the sheets tangling further around their sweating, writhing bodies. The older man gave a throaty moaned as he stared down in surprise into his partner's bright blue eyes. The new angle, with him firmly seated in Sherlock's lap, drove that beautiful long cock further in than John thought was possible. He was so overwhelmed by the sensation that he had to cling onto the consulting detective's shoulders for support.

Without breaking their gaze, Sherlock thrust up again and again, hitting that perfect spot with practiced precision every time. His thighs were aching, but this felt so incredible that he found he couldn't care about the discomfort. The detective gripped John's right hip hard enough to bruise. His other, he slid up the doctor's back and rested it between his shoulder blades with his hand splayed, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his fingers.

"You're gorgeous like this," Sherlock murmured in his deep baritone. "I love knowing that I'm the one who has caused it."

"Only you," John panted, resting his forehead against Sherlock's.

"You are the love of my life," the detective whispered, his eyes held nothing but sincerity. Since professing his love for his blogger just an hour earlier, he couldn't seem to stop telling him over and over.

John cried out Sherlock's name, his nails digging into the younger man's shoulders as he climaxed harder than he had ever done so before. Sherlock held onto him for dear life. Only seconds later, the consulting detective followed with his own release, chanting John's name repeatedly, like it was his own salvation.

Sherlock gently lowered his partner back down onto the mattress. John was breathing heavily, his eyes closed with silent tears streaming down his cheeks. The detective reached up and brushed them away, unaware of the moisture falling from his own eyes. Feeling the drops on his face, the doctor looked up and smiled in that special way he did only for Sherlock.

"I never fully understood the concept of 'making love' until tonight," the younger man confessed in a rough voice.

"You truly are amazing," John said as he slipped his fingers into those silky raven curls. He tugged at them, forcing Sherlock to lower his head and meet his lips in a languid, sensuous kiss.

Sometime later, they managed a quick shower. After throwing on pants and a tee-shirt (after all, with a young child running around the flat, it was never good to be naked for very long—they found this out the hard way), they fell back into bed and into each others' arms.

The partners snuggled down into their blankets, whispering softly to one another. Only a few minutes later, there was a hesitant knock on their bedroom door. They both sat up.

"Ben, sweetheart? What's wrong?" John called out.

Having the final confirmation he needed, Benedict shoved the portal open and launched himself onto the bed, a whirlwind of curls and teddy bear. He flung himself at Sherlock's chest, trusting the detective to catch him.

Instinctively, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the little boy and shot John a surprised look—one that his partner happened to mirror. The doctor shrugged as if to say _I have no idea, your guess is as good as mine._ The next thing they knew, the toddler started sobbing hysterically.

"Benedict, darling—you have to tell us what the matter is," Sherlock said in his deep, calming timbre.

The child buried his face into the genius's neck, clinging to his tee-shirt for dear life. The consulting detective rubbed soothing circles onto Ben's tiny back, attempting to calm him. It worked, because moments later, the sobbing quieted to little sniffles. "What's wrong, Ben? You can tell me," Sherlock coaxed. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He received a nod in response. "Will you tell us about it?" the detective pressed.

There was silence for a tense minute, then a whispered, "Was a nightmawre. Dweamed a bad guy was after you, Sher. Daddy tried to hewp, but you made him weave so he wouldn't get huwt. The bad guy was gonna shoot Nana and Uncle Gweg and Daddy if you didn't do what he said. He made you jump off a buiwding! You hit your head and Daddy was sad and cwied because you weren't hewe no mowe! You were gone just wike Mummy!"

"I'm here, Ben and I'm fine. See? It's okay," Sherlock informed the child. "I don't intend on going anywhere."

Benedict gave a small nod. Neither partner commented on it, but both were uncomfortably aware that the little boy had somehow managed to dream of his showdown with Moriarty. The boy was too young to be told of such things and it was utterly disturbing that his words of the dream echoed true to life past events. It had taken both John and Sherlock quite some time to finally get over what had happened back on the rooftop of St. Bart's and they refrained from talking about it as much as possible. Besides assuring Ben that it was just a nightmare, they both pushed it out of their minds. Tonight had been too special for it to be tainted with past sorrows.

The detective shifted so that he could lay the toddler down in the bed between him and his blogger. He reached down and smoothed those unruly baby curls off of Ben's forehead. John slid back down to rest his head on the pillow and reached around his son to urge Sherlock to do the same.

He complied without further prompting, the effects of their earlier love making and a hysterical child finally taking its toll on him. As soon as he lay back down, the other two cuddled closer. Sherlock couldn't believe how much his life had changed in the past several months as he cradled the two most important people in his world to him. Now that they were both such an intrinsic part of him, he knew he would never be able to live without either of them.

In those quiet moments, Benedict's words from earlier kept ricocheting around in his mind palace. _If you and Daddy got married…_

Sherlock surrendered to sleep with visions of roses, white tulle, and rings dancing through his head.

* * *

**And it's only taken Sherlock 11 chapters to _finally_ get there! **

**Probably have about 5 more chapters to go including the epilogue. I hope you are all enjoying the story so far! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! You guys are the best! :D So how does everyone feel so far? Message me!**

**And a tremendous thanks to Captain Evil who is my eternal muse. Kisses darling!**


	12. Mummy Holmes

**As the chapter title suggests, Mummy Holmes makes her grand entrance! And lots of sugary fluff follows...**

* * *

The next day Sherlock awoke to the feeling of a dead weight on the center of his chest and something tickling the side of his neck. As he slowly came back into consciousness, he realized that Benedict was draped over him with his little head full of curly hair tucked under the detective's chin. The warm, solid presence against his left arm told him that John was still in bed with him as well.

He stifled a yawn and rolled his head to the side to find his lover gazing at him as if he was the most important thing in the world. Sherlock felt a sudden tidal wave of affection for the man lying next to him. It must have shown on his face, because the doctor's eyes softened and his smile was like the sunrise breaking across the ocean.

"Good morning," John murmured.

"It always is whenever I wake up beside you," Sherlock whispered back. "I love you, John."

His blogger leaned forward and brushed his lips against the detective's. Just as they were about to deepen the kiss, Sherlock's mobile chimed from the nightstand. John groaned and snuggled closer as the younger man reached for the offending device. He held it over the prone sleeping body of Benedict so they both could read the text.

_You've been hiding him from me—not fair, Sherlock! I demand that you bring him to see me at once._ –Mummy

John laughed and asked, "So I guess your mother is tired of waiting to see our little one here?"

"So it would seem," the genius replied. "I suppose this means that we will need to take a trip out to the manor to appease her."

"You know that the longer we put it off, the more cross she will be with us," the doctor stated.

"Hmm…with me, yes. My mother adores you—you can do no wrong in her eyes. Therefore _I_ would bear the brunt of her disapproval," Sherlock corrected as he thought about his response to his mother.

**Haven't been hiding. John busy w/work at clinic. Been unable to get away –**S

_Excuses. When will you be able to make it home? And I mean ALL of you? _–Mummy

**John has a 3day wkend end of wk. Can you wait 2 more days? –**S

_If I must. Benedict is absolutely adorable! I need to spoil him rotten. _–Mummy

**You have photographs? Who sent them to you? –**S

_Your brother. _–Mummy

_And John. My favorite is the one with you and Ben asleep on the couch. _–Mummy

"What photo did you send my mother?" Sherlock asked, surprised. He didn't remember seeing any such picture, which meant that John had hidden it from him. And just like that, it was as if his mother heard his thoughts and forwarded the image to him.

He clicked open the attachment to see himself protectively clutching the toddler to his chest with one arm while the other dangled off the couch onto the floor, gripping that book of fairy tales. The detective turned and gave his lover a searching look as he tried to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat.

John just shrugged as best he could and said, "There was no way I was passing up that opportunity. You two really were too cute for words. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I pull up this photo. It reminds me of how much I love the both of you."

"John…" was all Sherlock said as he turned his attention back to the tiny screen of his phone. He had to rapidly blind away the extra moisture forming in his eyes before responding to his mother.

**Very reminiscent of our current position. I recognize that little limpet. **–S

_Send me a photo _–Mummy

**Inappropriate—we're still in bed. **–S

_Fine. But I expect to see lots more this weekend young man. No excuses. I WILL send your brother to retrieve you if I have to. _–Mummy

**As you wish Mummy. **–S

_Good. I'll see you this weekend, darling. Give John my love. _–Mummy

"Looks like we're going the manor this weekend—I'm sorry, I know you were looking forward to taking Benedict on the Eye Saturday," the consulting detective apologized.

"It can wait," John assured his partner with a kiss on his shoulder. "We have been neglecting your poor mother, after all."

"Whewe we goin'?" Benedict's sleep-addled voice slurred as he rubbed his face onto the genius' neck.

"To see my mummy," Sherlock answered. "Would you like that?"

"You have a mummy too?" the little voiced asked, surprised. It intrigued him that his beloved Sher had a mother. He wondered if she was anything like the genius.

With a laugh, the detective answered, "Yes, I have a mother. And she would very much like to meet you. We were just talking about going to the Holmes manor this weekend to see her. Is that acceptable?"

The toddler didn't even think about, he started nodded enthusiastically much to the amusement of the two men. They were then able to get out of bed with the promise of pancakes if Benedict went to get himself dressed. All through breakfast, the boy badgered Sherlock with questions about his mother, his childhood, and what the Holmes manor was like. This inquisition continued over the next two days and on the ride out into the countryside.

When their car, compliments of Mycroft, finally pulled into the long drive leading to the house, Ben plastered himself against the window and tried to take everything in. When then house finally came into view, his eyes went wide and he gasped in surprise as the sheer magnitude of the place.

"Wow!" he breathed. "Is big! You wived hewe?"

Sherlock followed Benedict's gaze to the grand entrance of the manor and smiled fondly at his childhood home. "Yes. I grew up here. This has been my family's home for generations."

The car finally slowed to a stop and the three of them piled out followed by their bulldog puppy in hot pursuit. The consulting detective and the good doctor made their way up the stone steps to the front door of the manor, with little Benedict between them holding on to both of their hands with one of his own. Before they could even reach the large, old-fashioned brass knocker, the wooden portal swung open into the marble foyer which was brightly light in anticipation of their arrival.

"Merci, Armond," Sherlock murmured to the butler. The man smiled and gave him a half bow and said, "Good to see you home again sir—it's been awhile."

"Far too long if you ask me," a lovely feminine voice answered from the archway just off to their left.

A warm smile crossed the genius' face as he stepped forward into the open arms of the petite woman. "Mummy," he greeted, placing a kiss on her forehead.

The stately lady pulled away from her son and turned her attention on his blogger. "John! I'm so glad you could come! I missed you the last time Sherlock came out here—he was positively miserable without you."

John grinned and pulled Mummy Holmes into his embrace. After kissing her on each cheek, he replied, "Hello, Phyllis! It's good to see you too."

Her smile reached all the way to her light blue eyes which were warm and danced with excitement and happiness as she retreated from his personal space and patted him on the cheek with motherly affection.

"And now—I was promised a very important introduction!" she declared and gazed down at the toddler hovering slightly behind the detective's right leg.

Sherlock leaned down and scooped the boy up in his arms. "Mummy—this is Benedict. Benedict, I would like you to meet my mother."

"Hello there, Benedict," Phyllis Holmes welcomed the child.

He nodded solemnly and extended his hand as he replied, "It's a pweaswe to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Howmes."

Mummy Holmes burst into pearls of laughter at such a formal greeting from such a young little lad. She reached out and enfolded his tiny hand in both of hers. "Likewise, my dear, but I assure you that there is no need for you to be so proper in this case. But such a gentleman! Martha—Nana—has told me so much about you. I'm so glad to finally meet you. Do feel free to call me by a more familiar title, my dear boy. It is very likely that you are the only grandchild I am likely to have."

Ben grinned up at her while Sherlock's cheeks flushed a deep pink. John gave his partner a curious sideways glance, but said nothing of it—best to keep that a private conversation for when they are alone later.

"Is Uncwe Mycwoft hewe?" the toddler asked, excitedly. "Saw his car in the dwive…"

Phyllis raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the honorary bestowed on her eldest by the child. Her youngest was clearly uncomfortable under her scrutinizing stare so she let it be—for now. She turned her attention to the boy's question. "Yes, he is. Mycroft is actually in the library right now awaiting your arrival. We can go see him if you like…"

When Benedict nodded enthusiastically, Sherlock set the toddler back down on his feet. Mummy Holmes held out her hand for the child and he took it without hesitation. He had been told all about his beloved Sher's mummy and was glad to know that she was as friendly as his daddy had told him she would be.

"What shouwd I cawl you?" he asked curiously. He already referred to Mrs. Hudson as 'Nana' and that title didn't seem to fit this lady standing beside him in her flowing chiffon dress, looking more like an exotic angle than anything else.

"Hmm…let's see," Mummy said thoughtfully as she tapped her lip and looked off in the distance. "I used to call my grandmother 'Mere-mere*'. That would do, I suppose."

Ben rolled the foreign word around on his tongue a few times before he decided that it was perfect for her. He nodded his acquiescence and allowed her to lead him into the library. The chatted away happily like two lost friends as their footsteps echoed softly on the marble floor.

John chuckled to himself and shook his head. First, Mycroft manages to be called "uncle" and now Phyllis becomes "grandmother"—and not just that, but the French honorary of it. He had to give it to them—life was never boring with the Holmes family. He shouldn't really be surprised. Mrs. Holmes had always treated him as one of her own. She was tickled pink when she learned that he and her youngest were finally together as a couple.

Sherlock extended his hand to his blogger, who interlaced their fingers without pause. John shot his lover a questioning look. The detective had a sheepish expression on his face, but didn't offer any explanation. There had been something on the genius' mind for the last few days or so, but John knew he would find out whatever it was when Sherlock was good and ready to tell him and not a second before. He knew it had to do with the familiarity of his partner's family, but it wasn't that important at the present.

They entered just in time to see Mycroft scoop Benedict up into a hug, Gladstone running in circles and barking excitedly at his feet. Mummy stood off to the side and watched the greeting with a fond, indulgent smile. It was nice to see her eldest so relaxed for once. He rarely let his guard down to just enjoy himself. He seemed to be a natural with John's son and Phyllis' debt of gratitude for the feisty little doctor increased tenfold in that moment. John had absolutely no reservations about Mycroft being what appeared to be an intricate part of the child's life. It was amazing how much one person could change the lives of so many around him…

And that reminded her. There was clearly something on Sherlock's mind, her motherly intuition was screaming at her to the point it was becoming too great of a distraction. "John, Darling, would you mind terribly if I stole my youngest here for a little walk in the garden? I have some new roses I would love for him to look at…"

With a slight shake of the head, the doctor answered, "No—not at all. Ben and I will keep Mycroft entertained. Take your time."

Mummy patted his arm in thanks and accepted another kiss on her cheek from him in return. As she left the library via the same way they had just entered, the detective obediently followed her trail down the hall and through the kitchen doors that led out onto the terrace.

Phyllis slipped her arm through Sherlock's as he led her out into the gardens. She allowed herself a moment to let her gaze linger on his face, her heart filling with a mother's pride as she watched the afternoon rays of the early summer sun dance off his glossy curls. There was a certain tenderness in his eyes that had not been there before and she knew it had everything to do with John and his son. When Sherlock realized she was looking at him, he tilted his head down and offered her a smile.

"You look so much happier than I have ever seen you, my dearest," she murmured softly. "I presume I have our good doctor to thank for it?"

"Ever observant you are, Mummy," the detective said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "And yes, you would be correct."

"There is something else on your mind, though."

Sherlock hesitated. They had wandered down a path with a little stone bench that overlooked the vaulting windows of the library. He offered his mother a seat first and then perched beside her once she was comfortable. Through the plate glass, they watched the doctor and Mycroft laugh and speak animatedly with one another as Benedict bounced around them rambunctiously. They watched the scene for several long minutes before the consulting detective finally answered his mother.

"John has become an essential part of my life, my work."

"Hmm. Yes, I had noticed that, but mon cher—that is hardly news."

"I intend to ask him to marry me."

"I see. And do you think that is something John wants as well?"

Sherlock was silent for such a long time that Mummy was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer. When he did, there was an expression on her son's face she couldn't name. Her heart gave a little spasm at the sight; it was not that unsimilar to that of her late husband's. For all his adamant denial, her youngest was very much like his father, who had been a very passionate and loving man in the privacy of their personal suite.

"I believe it is," the detective whispered, watching his blogger through the window.

"Your brother told me of the little domestic you two had shortly after Benedict came to Baker Street…" Phyllis segued carefully into the next matter she wished to discuss with her youngest.

With a snort, Sherlock countered, "Yes—Mycroft has shown his _concern_ repeatedly over the last several months. Can't seem to keep his large nose out of my business."

Mummy sighed and replied, "He means well, Sherlock. He's only looking out for you."

"That may be, but he spends an awfully suspicious amount of time looking out for John…" he retorted acidly.

"Mycroft is fond of John, yes, but he would never overstep his boundaries and jeopardize what the two of you have," Phyllis answered gently. "Besides, he and John became friendly during your little…sabbatical. And John is such a lovely person—can you blame him for being just a little infatuated? Let them be friends, Sherlock. There are worst people you could have as an ally besides your brother."

He shot her a dark look that clearly stated his displeasure more than words. But being his mother, she pressed on, undaunted. "Last time I spoke with John, he said that things were a little better between you and Mycroft."

"I am attempting to forgive him for his grievous transgressions in regards to the mess over Victor."

"Your brother is truly sorry for his part in that—I hope you know that."

"Yes, Mummy, I know. But—"

"But your life would have been very different had those events played out in another way," she finished for him when he just trailed off. "You know, Sherlock…I have always believed that things happen for a reason. Now—before you protest, my dear, just listen first. I am not making light of what happened—had the situation not been resolved, I would have killed Trevor myself…and possibly your brother. But what I mean to say is that those horrible things led you ultimately to John. Had you become the brilliant chemist I know you are, you would not have crossed paths with him—he's a doctor and an army captain, not much of a chance you would have just randomly bumped into him."

"Oh, your 'silver lining' theory again?"

"Do you disagree?"

Sherlock took a few minutes to give that thought the proper reflection it deserved. He shook his head. In that moment, John looked up through the window and smiled brightly at him and waved. The detective grinned back and replied to his mother, "No—I think in this instance you are correct."

Phyllis smirked in the patent Holmes style (and the doctor wondered where the brothers got it from) and said, "Of course I am—when am I ever wrong?"

Startled by the conviction in her voice, the genius turned to stare at his mother. When their eyes met, they both burst into a fit of laughter.

* * *

John felt a tingling sensation rush over his body. Instinctually, he knew that Sherlock was looking at him. The doctor gazed out into the gardens just beyond the glass windows to see his lover seated on a stone bench, regarding him thoughtfully. He smiled and gave a little wave and was delighted when Sherlock grinned back.

Mycroft followed his companion's stare and watched his little brother and mother laughing jovially in the afternoon sunlight. The sight warmed his heart. Things weren't perfect between him and the younger Holmes, but it was better than it had been in years.

Being the intelligent little boy that he was, Benedict immediately noticed when the men's attention was drawn out into the garden. "Sher wooks weawwy happy," he stated aloud.

"He normally is here, yes," Mycroft commented. "Despite all his protesting for not wanting to come here, it always lifts his spirits."

"You gwow up hewe too?" the child asked curiously.

"Yes. Sherlock and I were raised on this estate," the politician answered. "We spent many a summer afternoon riding down to the orchard just to lounge around in the shade beneath the trees in the grass."

"Wide wike howses?" Ben asked eagerly.

"Exactly like horses, Benedict," Mycroft leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. "Perhaps we can take a walk down to the stables and introduce you to the new colt. I think you will be particularly fond of him."

The toddler turned his excited, pleading eyes on his father. "Can we, Daddy?"

"Of course," John answered, "as long as Uncle Mycroft is up to it tomorrow."

* * *

After a wonderful dinner, courtesy of Phyllis' chef Antoine, they all retired back to the library. It was the undeclared favorite room in the whole manor. Mycroft poured the adults all a generous glass of his finest brandy as the puppy stretched out lazily on the cool stone hearth of the abandoned fireplace.

Mummy and the elder Holmes brother settled into the oversized leather chairs while John and Sherlock sat beside each other on the love seat, facing the others. They watched Benedict wander around the bookshelves until he pulled out a thick volume of what they soon discovered was a leather bound edition of the Grimm Fairytales. He clutched it to his chest as he stumbled under its weight, staggering over to Sherlock and offered him the book.

Without hesitation, the consulting detective accepted the text as Ben asked, "You wead this to me, Papa?"

Three other pairs of eyes immediately locked onto the scene in front of them.

Sherlock nearly dropped the book and snapped his gaze up to meet the miniature version of his partner's. Benedict had never addressed him as a parent before. He had to clear his throat before he could speak and blinked back the moisture that suddenly threatened to obscure his vision. What was it about these damned Watson men? They seemed to have a direct connection that led straight to his heart.

Phyllis hid a smirk behind her brand glass. It was good to see Sherlock out of his depth in this way. So few people were able to surprise her youngest anymore; John and his son were just what he needed in his life.

The genius helped the boy up onto his lap and as Ben settled down, he inquired, "Which story would you like to hear this evening?"

John turned sideways and propped his left elbow up on the back of the loveseat. He regarded his partner thoughtfully as he let that smooth baritone wash over him. These trips to the Holmes manor were always so telling about Sherlock...

* * *

***So Mere-mere is actually more French-Canadian that French-French. Literally means "mother's mother" or Grandmother. I have always been fond of this address, especially when it came to my own grandma. :)**


	13. Enclosed Spaces

**Hello my darlings! I swear I haven't forgotten about you or our sweet little Ben! Just an FYI-I'm in the process of moving half way across the country and starting a new job at the moment, so things are a bit hectic. I promise that I _will _finish our story, it might just take me a little more time. Good news is that the final three chapters should be a little easier to write as they are mostly half done already.**

**Thank you all for sticking with me so far and I hope that I shall not disappoint you here in the last leg of this journey. **

**As an apology for my untimely delay this time, here is a longer chapter! ****Enjoy! :)**

* * *

The rest of the weekend was remarkably relaxing. As promised, Mycroft took Ben down to the stables and taught him all he needed to know about equine care and riding, though the toddler was still far too young and small to ride without assistance. And also as predicted, Benedict was indeed particularly fond of the new colt.

He wasn't allowed to ride him, much to the child's dismay, but the new babe had yet to be named, so being the good uncle that he was, he left that honor to his little nephew. In fact, that had been his intention the moment the colt came into the world. Every Holmes lad was given a horse at a young age and while Ben wasn't strictly a _Holmes_, Mycroft saw no point in denying him any privileges that would have been bestowed on a biological child of Sherlock's. So it was with that in mind (and with Mummy's blessing) that the colt was gifted to Benedict.

Late that Saturday evening, they were down at the stables tending to various pieces of tack when a sudden thunderstorm passed through the area without warning. It had descended upon them so quickly that they didn't have time to get all the horses inside before the downpour began. And of course, Ben's baby was one of the ones left out in the pasture at the time. He was so frantic with worry about his colt that John had to restrain him while Mycroft and Sherlock went out to bring it in. The colt was the last one in from the rain and much to the annoyance of the younger Holmes, the baby pranced—_That little prat of a horse had the _nerve_ to prance, John!_—back in through the stable doors.

Mycroft was positively gleeful at his brother's obvious annoyance at the situation, as it seemed that they had disrupted the colt's fun while it ran amuck in the rain. The elder Holmes was reminded of a young Sherlock when he took in the feisty spirited horse, but he wisely kept his mouth shut on that opinion. But he did, however, share this with Benedict in a conspiratorial hushed whisper while they worked to dry off the colt.

"It seems your horse likes to run around in the rain," Mycroft concluded as he handed a curry comb to the toddler.

"That's it!" Ben cried as he nuzzled his face against the colt's. "That's his name, Uncwe Mycwoft!"

"And what would that be, my dear boy?"

"Stowm Wunner!"

He chuckled as he brushed down the colt's right flank with practiced ease. "Yes—I do think that is appropriate. Especially since he is the lovely shade of a storm cloud as well—wouldn't you agree?"

Benedict nodded and sighed happily. Sherlock and John, who were very busy in the next stall _not_ paying attention to the other two, both shared a secret smile over the exchange.

Sunday morning came quickly and bled into afternoon in very short order, much to the child's dismay. He begged them to stay and only acquiesced to returning home when his mere-mere promised that she would send him pictures and video clips every few days so that he could see how his colt was fairing.

And Mummy had been true to her words, by the end of that week, she had sent dozens of pictures and two video files to John's personal email. Ben was very excited about this and spent the majority of his days with Mrs. Hudson, telling her all about his horse and how much Gladstone loved the Holmes manor.

After having spent such a lovely weekend with his little family, John was loath to return to the clinic Monday morning. He enjoyed his work, but he missed being at home with his son and regretted not being able to traipse around London on a case after his partner, which was what Sherlock had spent his week doing.

So it was a blessing when Sarah demanded that John leave early on Friday afternoon, after he had worked four twelve hour days in a row. He was incredibly grateful because if he had to look at another ear infection or a summer cold, he was going to go around the twist for good this time.

He trudged wearily up the steps to their flat to find his whirlwind of a boyfriend searching manically for something on the desk in the corner. The doctor just shook his head with a sigh as he tucked his briefcase away and made his way into the kitchen to start his tea. John nearly dropped the kettle in surprise as Sherlock crowed loudly in triumph after he apparently found whatever it was he was looking for.

"John! I need you to run this down the Yard and give it to Lestrade," the genius dictated as he rushed into the kitchen waving a file.

"Hello to you, too," the doctor grumbled. "My day was fine dear, thank you for asking. What was that? Oh yes—I'd love a nice cuppa while I try to relax after the insane week I just had—how thoughtful of you!"

Sherlock stepped up to his blogger's side and gazed down at him quizzically. "What are you going on about?"

With another sigh, John pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes hoping to ward off the impending headache that was just hovering in the peripherals. "What I meant was _any_ of those would have been great for you to ask. Instead you just start ordering me around not even five seconds after I walk in the bloody door!"

"This is one of those social etiquette things again, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sherlock. You git."

"Oh, well in that case—let me start afresh," the consulting detective solicited and then cleared his throat dramatically for effect. "_Hello_, my darling John! I missed you!" He leaned over and captured his partner's face between his long, pale fingers before swooping in and bestowing a very passionate kiss upon an unsuspecting mouth.

Moments stretched by until at last they broke apart gasping for breath. "Better?" Sherlock asked as he rested his forehead against John's. The doctor licked his lips and gave a brief nod. "Yeah—yeah. That was good. Quite good, thanks. And I missed you too, by the way."

"How is it I managed to live the majority of my life without you perfectly well and yet when I hardly see you for just a few days, I can't stand it?" Sherlock wanted to know with a small displeased frown.

Laughing, John reached up to cup one of his lover's sharp cheekbones in his hand. "Love does crazy things to you."

"Hmm. How rather bothersome…But I love you nevertheless."

"I love you too, you mad genius," John replied fondly as he leaned up for a quick peck on the lips. "And what do you need me to take to Greg?"

Sherlock smirked knowing that he was going to get what he wanted. "This file. Lestrade phoned earlier and asked if I could run this over to him. I need to follow up on a lead pertaining to a separate case."

"Anything I can help with?" John inquired hopefully. He was nearly bone-tired but he would readily push that all aside if it meant that he could chase after his partner on another adventure.

The younger man sighed heavily and pulled his blogger in for a hug. "As much as I would love to have you with me, I'm afraid that having you there would give me away. But if you could, please take that file down to the Yard before Lestrade bothers me again—I would be most appreciative."

"Yes, alright. I can go now," the doctor answered and then as an afterthought asked, "Where's Ben? Is he with Mrs. Hudson? It's rather quiet downstairs…"

"No, he's with Mycroft. Something about the National Gallery—I was only half paying attention. Benedict seemed excited so I let him go. My brother is at least some semblance of a responsible adult so I didn't think you'd mind," Sherlock told him.

John looked up at his lover and gave a laugh. _Yeah of course he'd never consider himself to be anything less than a 'responsible adult'—never mind that Mycroft was probably the most responsible person out of everyone we know!_ Aloud he said, "Yes—of course that's fine. You go follow up on your lead and I'll run this file down to Greg. Will you be home in time for dinner?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Oh."

Sherlock took in the forlorn expression gracing his boyfriend's face and caved. He had missed John rather terribly this week and it really wouldn't hurt his case if he took the night off. "On second thought, I think I can manage to get everything I need done in the next several hours."

The doctor brightened considerably with those words and the genius knew that he had said the right thing for a change.

"Alright then. I'll just pop off down to the Yard and be back in no time. Then when you're done, we can order take away from the Thai place around the corner and start re-watching season two of Torchwood, maybe have a cuddle on the couch…"

"Mmm, that would be nice," the consulting detective hummed in consent. "I promise to hurry with my business then." He bent down and offered his blogger a chaste peck on the mouth before he spun around just as quickly as he had arrived and bolted out of the flat without another word.

John just shook his head and laughed as he lifted the abandoned file and within the next twenty minutes found himself just outside Greg's office. He knocked on the frame of the open door as he leaned in and waved to the DI.

Lestrade's weary expression melted as he glanced up and saw the doctor standing there. "John! Hey—good to see you, mate! What brings you down here?"

With a smile, the doctor stepped into the room and walked over to his friend's desk. He handed the manila folder to officer before he dropped into the chair across from Greg's. "Sherlock asked me to bring this to you. Said you had phoned him about it earlier."

He briefly pursued the file and then tossed it absentmindedly on top of the pile on the right side of his workspace. "Right—I did," Lestrade confirmed with a wry grin. "And of course he couldn't have been arsed to bring to me himself, the bloody genius."

Shrugging, John replied, "Sherlock said that he was working on another case. Not one of yours I take it?"

"Nope, it's been pretty dull around here for me the last two weeks," Greg explained with a sigh, clearly displeased with the state of affairs. "I've had nothing to offer him sadly, but I believe Dimmock called him in on one of his cases earlier in the week. I have no idea what he's up to unfortunately. Has he not said anything to you?"

"I've worked twelve hour shifts the past four days so we've had little chance to catch up since last weekend," the doctor informed him.

"Huh. Well, I'm sure if it was dangerous or if he needed help, Sherlock would say something and rope you in because God knows he loves someone to spout off about his brilliance," Greg added, earning himself a laugh from his companion. "A speaking of your weekend—I heard that little Ben had a grand time with the horses and it seems that now he has his own colt…"

"Sounds like you've had a good conversation with my boyfriend."

"No—more like his brother."

"Really?" John asked with an upward quirk of his lip. "Sounds like a nice little chat you had there…So…"

"So?"

"How did it go?"

Lestrade's cheeks flushed a deep pink as he attempted to lie, "It was just a quick chat. Mycroft stopped by the office to ask for an update on a joint taskforce project and that was all."

"Sure," John agreed with a raised eyebrow. "And I assume he just lingered long enough to tell you all about his weekend, did he? Maybe over dinner?"

"Dinner might have been involved," was the response, along with a redder blush creeping its way down the DI's neck.

"And perhaps that was followed by a good snog?"

"It was bloody fantastic!"

Greg blinked in surprise, realizing what he had just revealed. He was then incredibly relieved that it was John he was talking to and that meant that he would be spared the need for any additional explanations.

There was a devious twinkle in the doctor's eyes, one that had an uncanny resemblance to a certain other inhabitant of 221B Baker Street. They both sat there staring at one another, deducing thoughts and emotions until finally they cracked and erupted into a fit of laughter simultaneously.

"Good for you, mate," John declared as he wiped the lingering moisture from his eyes. "I'm happy for you. See? I told you Mycroft would eventually come around to his senses."

"It was—God, John!—It was electric," Greg described in a hushed tone. "And the way he looked at me…like I was the only person on earth for him…Never felt anything like it, not even with the ex-wife!"

The doctor couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face. "I know just what you mean. The Holmes brothers are a rather intense lot, aren't they?"

"That's an understatement," the DI said.

"Well, I'll leave you to your work now," John announced as he heaved himself up out of the chair. "I was promised a glorious night in with my mad boyfriend—so as much as I love your company, Greg, I don't think you'd fancy a cuddle with me while we watch telly."

Lestrade made a shooing motion toward the door and smiled fondly. "Not in the least! You go enjoy your time with your sweetheart. Got to say I appreciate it—he's gotten himself into less trouble since the two of you started shagging!"

* * *

When John got back to the flat, Gladstone was the only one there. _Oh well_, the doctor thought, _at least_ _the dog is happy to see me_. He fetched the leash and took the puppy down to the park for its exercise since John doubted that Sherlock had done so with Ben spending the day with the elder Holmes. The walk was exhilarating in its own way and reminded John how much he loved to be outdoors. He smiled and turned his face up to the sunshine, enjoying the warmth seeping into his skin.

Sherlock happened to be strolling down the same path heading in the opposite direction. His steps faltered slightly as he caught sight of his lover, golden hair shimmering in the sunlight with a happy expression on his face. Like this, he looked years younger and in that moment, there was no doubt in the genius' mind—he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the short army doctor. He unconsciously fiddled with the slim jewelry box currently residing in his right trouser pocket.

Taking care not to be seen, Sherlock circled around until he was able to come up behind his blogger. Gladstone wagged his stumpy little tail happily but kept quiet when the detective motioned for him to do so.

John gave a start when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist from behind. "Fancy meeting you in a place like this," a smooth, low timbre sounded in his ear.

Mindful of the dog's leash, the doctor turned slightly in the embrace to stare up at his partner. "Well this is a pleasant surprise indeed! I didn't expect to see you back this way so soon!"

"I couldn't stop thinking of you," Sherlock answered truthfully with a grin. "It won't hurt any if I took the rest of the night off."

"I never thought I'd ever hear you say that about a case," John declared to which the younger man merely shrugged.

"There is nothing I can really do at the moment, so I might as well enjoy spending time with my lover."

"And he is grateful and much obliged."

Sherlock brushed his lips across John's forehead before he turned them around and slid his hand into his blogger's, the one not holding the leash. A comfortable silence stretched between them as they leisurely made their way back home from the park.

Two blocks away from the flat, the doctor's mobile rang and startled him. The genius courteously dropped his hand to allow John to fish it out from his pocket and was very curious to see that it was his brother calling.

"Hello, Mycroft?" the doctor greeted.

"Daddy!" his son's little voice squealed over the line instead.

"Hi there, Sweetheart!" John corrected cheerfully. "Sherlock said you went to the museum. Did you enjoy the day out with your uncle?"

"Yes—we had fun. Saw wots of paintings."

"That's good to hear. What are you up to now?"

"We awre in the car. That's why we cawwed."

"Oh, alright then—can I please speak to Uncle Mycroft?"

"Okay."

The line was silent for several moments, then, "Hello, John. I trust you had an early day the clinic then?"

"Hey, Mycroft. Yeah—I got done early today. Heard you went to the National Gallery. I hope Ben wasn't too much trouble," the doctor said.

"Not in the least—Benedict is an absolute pleasure. I do enjoy his company, and that is ultimately why we called," Mycroft explained. "Would you be opposed to him spending the night with me? There is a children's event at the zoo tomorrow that I would like to take him to—unless you have any objections?"

"Oh," John simply stated, a little surprised at the request. "No—I don't mind. Are you coming by to get some of his things then?"

"Yes, we are right outside your flat now."

"Sherlock and I are just around the corner—we'll see you in a few." He disconnected just as they rounded the corner of the building on the opposite side of the street. Sure enough, there was a shiny black sedan parked just outside their front door.

They stepped around the car just as Mycroft and Benedict emerged, the elder Holmes carrying the child's backpack stuffed to the brim to the point where the zipper was clearly straining against the contents. Ben waved excitedly as he shuffled his oversized teddy bear in his small arms.

Gladstone barked happily as Ben leaned over to rub his face affectionately on the puppy's non-existent muzzle. John caught Sherlock wrinkling his nose at the process and suppressed a smirk. While the consulting detective was rather (begrudgingly) fond of the beast, he never let it get that close to his face and always was a little disconcerted when the toddler thought nothing of letting Gladstone smother his face in dog drool.

Benedict giggled as his puppy licked the entire left side of his face with one long swipe of his rough tongue. "Be good for Daddy and Papa," the boy demanded as he nuzzled the dog's head again.

John knelt when his son took a step closer to his legs. He wrapped his arms around the child and kissed him on the top of his curly head. "Have a good time!"

He received a nod in response before letting the boy go to Sherlock, who also gave Ben a hug and a kiss. "Don't let Uncle Mycroft get into too much trouble," he whispered conspiratorially with a wink.

The elder Holmes let a rare smile—though becoming much more common these days—cross his face. He loved seeing this side of his brother. Sherlock had turned into a rather excellent parent, he silently noted. And just as that thought crossed his mind, a pair of icy blue eyes met his darker blue ones. There was a softness to his younger brother's eyes that he hadn't seen there in quite some time. Mycroft allowed a small spark of hope to blossom in his chest. Perhaps things really would be okay between them after all.

But he knew they were still a ways off from getting to that point and he did not want to wear out his welcome on this occasion. So when his little nephew had finished saying his goodbyes, Mycroft ushered the toddler back into the car and they were on their way.

John led Sherlock and the dog up the stairs and into the flat after they were left alone. While the doctor placed their order with the Thai place around the corner, the genius refreshed Gladstone's water dish and fed the puppy.

Two hours later found the couple cuddled on the couch. Sherlock curled himself into John's sturdy frame and hummed contently when two strong arms wrapped around him. Gladstone, not wanting to be left out, hopped up onto the genius' lap and stretched out on his back in an entreat. Taking the hint, Sherlock rubbed his long fingers up and down the puppy's velvety soft belly absentmindedly as John queued up the next episode of Torchwood.

"That case you're working on," the doctor started as the beginning credits of the next episode rolled across the screen, "Greg said it wasn't one of his and that you're working with Dimmock—what are you doing?"

Sherlock shrugged and answered evasively, "Just scouting out a local scene for him. Using my homeless network to track somebody down. Nothing important."

Somehow John didn't think it was that simple, but he let it go for the time being.

* * *

He only had to wait four more days to find out just how not simple the whole was. Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a torrential downpour, John received a frantic call from Greg while he was at the clinic. The reception was spotty at best due the weather and the doctor only heard about every other word the DI said in his near panic. When he hung up the phone, he still hadn't the faintest idea what the problem was—he only knew that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

John rushed out the clinic quickly, yelling to Sarah that Sherlock was in trouble and that he wouldn't be back for the rest of the afternoon. Within minutes, he found himself crawling out of the backseat of a cab, having pulled up in front of Scotland Yard without realizing just how he had gotten there. Not wanting to waste time on waiting for the lift, John ran up the three flights of stairs to Lestrade's office. The entire way up, hundreds of worse case scenarios played out in his mind, each one more horrific than its predecessor.

Without preamble, John flung open the DI's office door and realized that his worst fears might actually be true when he took in Mycroft's grim countenance. The politician was standing next to Lestrade's desk fiddling anxiously with the handle of his brolly, completely out of character.

"Oh God! What's happened?!" John demanded as he gulped for air.

"John—I think you'd better sit down," the elder Holmes advised.

"What's happened, Mycroft?" the doctor cried out. He wiped his wet forehead on the white sleeve of his doctor's coat, which he was still wearing, having completely forgotten to remove it in his haste.

Greg sighed and launched into an explanation of what DI Dimmock's case had been—an attempt to take down a rising drug lord. Not only had Sherlock been using his homeless network as a resource and scouting out the assigned area, but he had also been working undercover as a supposed junkie looking for his next hit. Lestrade had only found this out when his team was called in for backup. Greg had walked into the crime scene to find the consulting detective with a rubber tourniquet around his upper arm and shirtsleeve rolled up to his elbow with a syringe in the opposite hand, ready to be used. Lestrade had been furious and nearly tore the younger DI's head off for allowing the genius to work such a tempting case. Dimmock, in his defense, was completely unaware of Sherlock's past history of drug problems.

"_No_…" John whispered. "Sherlock wouldn't do that to me—to us!"

"Once an addict, always an addict," Mycroft said, the resignation heavy in his voice. "Rehab only does so much—if he took another hit at any point in the past week and a half, he could very easily fall back into old habits."

"Where is he?" the doctor demanded, rising out of his chair.

"I'm right here," the man in question answered as he strode through the open door to Greg's office. "Look what the two of you did—you've worked poor John into a frenzy unnecessarily. I was perfectly fine."

"How—how could you?!" John cried, torn between outrageous anger and the need to sob hysterically. "We have a little boy, Sherlock! Is that what you want him to see?! What you want him to go through because you felt the need to take a hit?! This is why you didn't say anything about the case! You always talk to me about your cases, no matter how trivial they seem! God! I can't believe this!"

"Do calm down, John," Sherlock commanded snidely and yanked his shirt cuff up to expose the crook of his elbow. "There is nothing for you to worry about! I wasn't going to take the hit! I knew the police would show up in time! Besides—I had switched the cocaine with a harmless saline solution while the dealer wasn't paying attention."

Mycroft grabbed his brother's wrist and examined the exposed flesh thoroughly. He let out a sigh of relief when he discovered no new track marks marring the delicate skin of the inner elbow. Just to be sure, he checked the other arm as well and found the same results.

"You agreed to stay away from cases involving drug rings!" the doctor accused, his eyes on fire. "I can't have you near that filth when we're caring for a child!"

"Did it ever occur to you that I took this case for Benedict?!" Sherlock shouted, waving his arms around like a maniac. "That dealer was moving into the section of the park where he likes to play! There have already been reports of used needles being found by the playground!"

He couldn't think rationally at the moment. The doctor threw his partner a scathing look before he turned without a word and stalked out into the hall. The elder Holmes and Greg shared a worried look before the politician promptly followed the ex army captain. This could very well be the one thing that he might not be willing to forgive Sherlock.

John marched with determined fury towards the bank of elevators. He was clearly not in the reasoning mood right now so there was no use in attempting to pacify him at the moment so Mycroft did the only thing he could and quickened his pace to catch up with the doctor.

He made it into the lift just as the double steel doors slid shut with their tell-tale rattling bang. The politician chanced a sideways glance at his companion and cleared his throat discreetly.

John frowned as he fell into the parade rest stance. He didn't even bother to look at the elder Holmes as he stated, "If you've got something to say just say it, Mycroft."

"John—I know that Sherlock may have overstepped his bound—"

A low growl erupted from that compact muscular frame and it momentarily startled the politician. The doctor closed the limited space between them and backed the elder Holmes against the wall. "Don't you _dare_ apologize for him, Mycroft! Your brother is an arrogant, self-centered sod who needs to learn how to clean up his own messes! By your constant coddling, you have successfully managed to keep Sherlock in a perpetual state of adolescence! Do _not_ make excuses for him!"

Without realizing he had moved, Mycroft came to the realization that his hands had come up to grip John's shoulders; their faces were mere inches apart. His voice wasn't nearly as strong as he had wanted it to be when he spoke. In fact, it was more akin to a breathless pant. "_John_…"

That snapped the doctor out of his mood instantly. Only one other man had ever said his name in such a manner. And just like that, he immediately slipped into deduction mode. John took in Mycroft's breathless state, the firm, warm grip on his shoulders, the elder Holmes' dilated pupils and the increased fluttering of his pulse pounding through his carotid artery. Then dozens of their previous interactions came flooding back to him. When Sherlock had said before that his brother fancied him, John just brushed it off as his lover being jealous…but no, he realized that there was truth behind the detective's rant. Greg had mentioned something about it too, he seemed to recall.

John opened his mouth to reply when the carriage shuddered and gave a stomach churning lurch. The lights flickered and blinked out as the doctor was slammed into the politician as they dropped several meters. The emergency lights winked on, and the two found themselves in a very compromising position, for they had both instinctually reached out and braced one another around the waist.

"Mycroft…" John started softly, "you know that this can't happen."

"I know," the elder Holmes replied just barely above a whisper.

The doctor was about to respond when there was a banging from above.

"Oh God! Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes! Are you both alright?" the voice of Sally Donovan shouted down to them.

"Yes, Sergeant Donovan! We are alright! None the worse for the wear!" Mycroft yelled back, his eyes never leaving John's.

"Just sit tight! We'll try and get you out of there as soon as we can!" she said.

John sighed and stepped back out of his companion's embrace. He sat down against the wall opposite Mycroft. "Well—knowing the maintenance men that the Yard employs, this may be awhile. You might as well get comfortable." He gestured for the elder Holmes to join him on the floor.

Mycroft hooked his umbrella over the rail and readjusted his waistcoat and jacket before lowering himself to the floor. He ran his left hand through his ginger hair agitatedly and looked away from the doctor.

"I…apologize for my behavior," Mycroft declared into the quiet confines of their temporary prison. The doctor almost missed his words over the banging and shouting from above.

"There's no need for you to apologize, Mycroft. It's quite alright," John replied.

"No, no. I acted out of turn. It was improper for me to behave so coarsely," the elder Holmes continued. "And with my little brother's _boyfriend_ of all people! God! Why am I so foolish?"

John regarded Mycroft curiously and asked, "Why don't you tell me about what you feel is so improper?"

"I should not speak of it," the elder Holmes murmured. "Besides, has Sherlock not told you of my regard already?"

"I don't want to hear it from Sherlock. Mycroft—we know each other well enough that you can speak freely to me. Please do me the courtesy of telling me directly. It won't change my opinion of you, just so you know," the doctor told his companion quietly.

Mycroft sighed heavily and answered, "You are quite a remarkable man, John. My only regret is that I had not met you before you met Sherlock."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"Is it not obvious that I'm attracted to you?"

"See—life is so much easier when we're all honest with each other."

"What of this is easy, pray tell?"

"I didn't say it was _easy_—I meant that when we're all on the same page, it make progress easier."

"And here I thought you were a medical doctor and not a psychologist."

"Why—have you seen many of those?" John teased with a smile. "But seriously—I'm flattered that you hold me in such high regard, really. And if I wasn't head over heels for your brother it might make a difference…but you know who's heartbroken over your infatuation with me?"

Mycroft gave him a wry smile and responded, "Ah, yes—Gregory."

The doctor hummed in acquiescence. "According to him, you two had quite the evening the other night…"

The elder Holmes gave a genuine laugh, his eyes sparkling with some unnamed emotion as he looked off into the corner of the lift, remembering. _Ah…so the feeling is mutual then!_ John thought with a smile of his own. _Well that'll make Greg happy at least…must be Mycroft's infatuation with me that's holding him back_…

There was more shouting coupled with the banging from above before they heard Sherlock's frantic voice. "John! Are you alright?"

Shaking his head in exasperated fondness, the doctor yelled back, "Yes, Sherlock! We're fine."

"Good! Is Mycroft alright as well?"

"Yes—we're both fine!"

"As soon as these idiots figure out what they're doing, we'll have you out of there!"

John pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten before shouting back. "Please don't piss off the blokes fixing the lift—we kind of need them to do their job properly!"

"Don't worry—I'll detain him if I have to!" answered Lestrade.

At that moment, Mycroft looked at John and they both burst out laughing at the complete absurdity of the situation.

When they had both calmed down, the doctor returned to their previous conversation. "Now back to what we were talking about before," he said quietly, just in case there was a chance the others could overhear them. "What's holding you back from Greg? Is it whatever it is you might feel for me?"

The politician blushed slightly and averted his gaze once again. "Possibly."

"But you enjoyed snogging Greg within an inch of his life, correct?"

His companion's cheeks colored even more, telling him all he needed to know. "Then I suggest we perform a little experiment," John offered.

Mycroft gave him a curious look and asked, "What do you propose?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes…"

"Good."

John shuffled to the opposite side of the compartment and leaned into Mycroft's personal space. The elder Holmes felt his heart rate kick up several notches when it became clear what the doctor's intentions were.

He licked his lips nervously and questioned, "John—what are you doing?"

"Proving a point," was the only answer he received before the doctor slanted his mouth over Mycroft's and kissed him deeply and quite thoroughly.

When John finally pulled back, the politician stared at him for several long moments—speechless.

"Well?" John demanded.

"That was…fantastic," Mycroft replied, "but…"

"Not the same zing as when you kissed Greg?"

"Yes."

"Then you have your answer," stated the doctor in a very nonchalant manner. "So now you don't have to wonder what it's like to snog me. And you now have your answer—just a fleeting infatuation, but what you have with Greg could be something real."

He was awarded another smile from his companion. "As I have already said—you are quite the remarkable man, John."

The doctor grinned back as the regular lights flickered back on and the lift groaned to life. John stood first and offered his hand out to Mycroft and helped the politician to stand. They had both just righted themselves just as the movement beneath their feet stopped and the doors to their compartment slid open.

John hadn't taken more than ten steps out until he found himself being crushed into the unbearably tight embrace of his lover. Despite his anger at the man, the doctor slid his arms around the consulting detective and held him.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered only loud enough for his ears. "I know I'm impossible and an arse as you're so fond of telling me, but please—forgive me."

"You know I always do," John whispered back. "I'm still angry with you though. You're not completely off the hook yet."

"Dinner?" the genius asked with a hint of hopefulness in his voice. "We can order take away…the Chinese place around the corner?"

"Sounds lovely."

Sherlock turned towards the stairs—not trusting the lift—with this arm still around John's shoulders and his blogger's arm around his waist.

Greg watched the couple stroll away in disbelief. "Oi! What about my incident report?!" he called after them.

"Later, Lestrade!" Sherlock called back.

The DI just shook his head wearily and sighed as he rubbed at the forming tension in the back of his neck. Several seconds later, he was alerted to the presence of one British Government encroaching upon his space.

"Might I have a word in private, Detective Inspector?" the politician asked with a small smile on his face.

He gave a brief nod and gestured towards his office as he tried to contain the grin threatening to spill across his face. Perhaps the day wasn't going to end that badly after all.

* * *

**And I know I've already said this several times-but seriously, thank you to everyone for reading and those taking the time to review. I have tried to make sure that I respond to everyone, but if I haven't replied to your comment, I apologize. **


	14. In Answer to Your Question

**Yay! The next chapter-finally! So I would make some promise about the remaining two chapters, but I won't since I've been absolutely horrible at updating this in a timely manner. The plot monkeys have discovered the wonder city of New Orleans and have decided that nothing else matters at the moment.**

**Once again-thank you to everyone for sticking with me so far. You're the best!**

**And there are only two more chapters left! Everyone make your dental appointments now-the remaining bit of our tale is so sugary sweet that you'll all have cavities by the time we're done...**

* * *

Sherlock had called in their order to the Chinese place on the way home. He kept stealing sideways glances at John's profile, wondering when the next angry outburst was going to come.

The good doctor resolutely kept his stare fixed out his window, but it did not escape his notice that his infuriating partner was watching him like a hawk, or rather, pretending not to. John sighed and blindly slid his right hand across the empty expanse of the seat to brush it against Sherlock's leg.

Without hesitation, the genius reached down with his left hand and entangled their fingers together.

"Do you know why I'm cross with you?" his blogger questioned in a low tone, so as not to be overheard by the cabbie. He still hadn't turned to face Sherlock yet, but at least he was now speaking to him.

Staring down at their joined hands, the younger man absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over John's knuckles as he answered, "Because it was a drugs case and I had promised that I would avoid those cases. I have betrayed your trust yet again."

"It's one thing if I can be there with you, but it's entirely another when you go running off on your own—undercover nevertheless—to catch a dealer," the doctor stated blandly. "Honestly—what would you have done had Dimmock and Lestrade not shown up in time? You would have had to take the injection…God! I love you, but I don't know if I could handle it if you _willfully_ took that stuff…"

"But that's just it, John," Sherlock begged his lover to understand, "it wasn't the solution the dealer gave me. I pocketed it as evidence so that Dimmock could have further proof of the man's illegal activities. The vial that Lestrade saw was filled with nothing more than a harmless saline solution. I switched them out in the event that I might actually have to take the injection."

Shaking his head, the older man responded, "I still think that it was a risky move on your part."

"Yes, perhaps—but necessary," the consulting detective countered. "That low life was dealing in the park where Benedict likes to play. I thought long and hard about taking this case before I actually accepted it. I just kept coming back to imagining our little one falling and being stuck with an unclean needle…if that had happened, I don't think I could have ever forgiven myself, knowing that I could have done something to prevent it. And it's not just Benedict, John—it's all the other children who run around there too."

An odd expression flitted across John's face, one that Sherlock couldn't put a name to. "Listen to you! Be careful now, or people will start to think that you might actually care."

"I don't care what _other_ people think," the genius scoffed. "I only care about what _you_ think."

"Alright then—I think you're a right mad bastard. But you're mine all the same."

"Are you still angry with me?"

"Yes, but I understand your reasoning," the doctor conceded. "Just…just don't keep something like this from me again. I swear—if I get another call like that from Greg again, I will kill you myself as soon as I find out you're safe."

In that moment, Sherlock had no doubt that John actually meant what he said.

* * *

Sherlock spent the next several days trying to atone for his mistake by being the perfect boyfriend. For a change, the kitchen was sparkling clean and free of experiments. John had left Sunday afternoon to acquire more milk from Tesco's and came back to a dust free and spotless flat, everything in its proper place for once.

The doctor glanced around suspiciously waiting for the axe to fall. "What's this for?" he asked as he opened the fridge to find it just as fresh as the rest of their space.

"Do I need a reason?"

"Yes, Sherlock, you do," John said wryly with a raised eyebrow. "There must be some reason you've gone so far as to clean the entire flat—you never clean!" Then it dawned on him—this was still an apology for the drugs case. "When are you going to stop apologizing for that?"

Sherlock gave him a scathing look and answered, "When you stop holding it over my head. And besides—can't I do something nice for you once in a while?"

John sighed and joined his partner on the couch. "No, no. You can—I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Of course I like it when you do things like this. It's just been a long week."

The detective leaned forward and lightly kissed his blogger on the lips. "I'm going to spend however long it takes me to make you understand that I am sorry for my transgression."

"I know that you're sorry—you don't have to keep apologizing, Sherlock. Just…don't do it again," the doctor said.

"Alright," Sherlock agreed and wrapped his arms around John as his lover leaned into him. He fondly nuzzled the back of his neck and asked in a low rumble, "So next Friday…"

"Mmm…yes?"

"What are the odds of me being able to take you out to dinner? There's a restaurant I've recently discovered that I think you'll enjoy," advised the genius.

"Any particular reason that we're waiting until next Friday instead of this weekend?" John questioned.

"Yes—reservations," Sherlock stated plainly. "I got us a table for seven o'clock, so tell Sarah that you can't possibly work beyond six on Friday."

"Oh—a date night then? That would be lovely. We haven't gone out in some time," the doctor declared with a smile.

"I know that I'm not the best at romance, but every once and a while I feel like I should make the effort," the younger man reasoned.

"I don't know what you are talking about," John replied. "I think you are highly romantic. What's not romantic about joint showers, take away in front of the telly, and cuddles on the couch or bonding over a crime scene? God knows we're not a traditional couple…you know that I don't need chocolates and roses."

"I know that, John, but I want to do this for you. Will you just let me?"

"Of course! I didn't mean it like that! I was simply saying that I don't _expect_ it."

"Which is why I'm going to take you to dinner at this lovely restaurant."

John twisted in his partner's arms to face him and gave him a peck on the lips. "I love you Sherlock Holmes."

With an answering laugh, the consulting detective responded, "And I love you John Watson."

* * *

John had to admit that he was very curious about what Sherlock had been planning for their date night. He was even more curious when his partner told him that they would not be needing a babysitter because they would be taking Benedict with them. The doctor was pleased to be including his son on this outing, though he couldn't place exactly why that was—there was something different about this "date".

When Friday finally came around, he rushed out of the clinic in a whirlwind of excitement. John bit the bullet and paid for the cab fair to take him home, he was in such a hurry to get back to Sherlock and their promised night out.

The flat was empty when he arrived, but his best suit was laid out on the bed for him. _Oh—so it's going to be one of those nights, then!_ Grinning like a fool, he stripped quickly and took a fast shower before dressing in the dark grey charcoal Perry Ellis suit and a light green silk shirt. He laughed to himself as he knotted the green and grey stripped tie that Sherlock had picked out for him. Just as he was slipping on his jacket, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and Benedict's little voice chattering away about Gladstone.

Said dog barked excitedly and ran through the flat into their bedroom and greeted John with unrestrained enthusiasm. He laughed and rubbed Gladstone's head affectionately as Sherlock appeared in the doorway with a smile.

"Don't you look spectacular," complimented the detective with an appreciative look. "Maybe I should take you out more often, just so that you have a chance to dress up." He walked towards his blogger with the air of a jungle cat stalking his prey. When he leaned in for kiss, John felt his heart rate kick it up a notch at the predatory look he was receiving.

The situation would have quickly escalated was it not for Ben rushing in and tugging on John's trouser leg, demanding to know when they were going to dinner.

Sherlock, stunning as ever in his black Spencer Hart suit and that purple shirt of sex, bent over and scooped Benedict up in his arms and whispered something to the toddler that John couldn't hear. The boy giggled and shot a conspiratorial look at his father.

"And just what are you two planning?" the doctor demanded, trying to sound stern and failing miserably, especially when he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

There was no response to his question, only a quirked secret smile from his mad lover before he turned and walked out of the room. "Coming, John?" he called over his shoulder as he and Ben headed for the door.

The cab ride was pleasant with them all recounting their day to one another. John was so caught up in their conversation that he hadn't been paying attention to where they were going until they were half way across the Westminster Bridge.

Glancing out the window for the first time since getting into the car, the doctor asked, "Where are we going?"

With a mysterious twinkle in his eye, Sherlock answered, "You'll find out momentarily."

And true to his word, several minutes later, their cab stopped in front of Locale. The genius ushered them all out of the car once he paid the fair and led them into the restaurant where he gave the hostess his last name. After they were led to their table, John took a moment to glace around at the warm Italian inspired décor. The ambiance of the place was posh, yet remained open and inviting at the same time.

He didn't say anything until after Sherlock had ordered them olives and calamari as starters. "You remembered that I wanted to come here," John said with a fond smile.

His younger lover shot him a disapproving look and he added, "Of course you remembered—you remember everything. But why now?"

Sherlock was the picture of nonchalance as he shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Why _not_? I thought now was as good a time as any. And besides—I think we've officially been to every Italian restaurant on our side of the Thames, so I figured we would start here on _this_ side."

"Ah." John knew there was definitely more to it than that, but he kept quite. Let Sherlock have his secrets if it pleased him.

After that, they slipped easily back into the conversation they were having on the cab ride over. During dinner, Sherlock regaled Ben with tales of John's heroic exploits yet again. There was something slightly different about the looks his detective graced him with this evening—it made his stomach flutter and his heart beat a little faster. Even with a three year old child, the whole experience was very intimate and romantic.

Benedict had insisted on dessert, and despite being utterly stuffed themselves, Sherlock and John relented and ordered the tiramisu.

"God, I feel like you should be rolling me out of here!" the doctor exclaimed as they stepped out into the evening air.

Laughing, Sherlock replied, "Well, then—I think a nice little walk will do us all some good. Shall we?" He gestured down the street, indicating the direction they should take.

They strolled along in a comfortable silence with Ben between them holding onto one of each of their hands. It wasn't until they approached County Hall that it finally dawned on John what the remainder of their evening would include.

"The London Eye?" John questioned, slightly dazed.

"You are just filled with excellent observations tonight, aren't you?" It was said without the usual snide-ness that similar comments carried.

"Ha ha. Yes, well…why tonight?"

"It's a beautiful evening and I believe we're just in time to watch the sunset. When would be a better time if not now?"

John had no further questions beyond that.

Once inside, Sherlock went straight up to the priority desk. John hung back with Ben as the detective spoke with the sales rep behind the counter. Minutes later, the genius motioned for them to join him as they followed another representative.

"This must have cost a fortune," John declared as they were led to their own private pod.

The younger man just smiled mysteriously and bent to pick Benedict up, carrying the toddle the rest of the way up the ramp.

Once they were settled in, John leaned up and kissed his partner. "You are amazing. Have I told you that lately?"

Grinning, Sherlock replied, "You have, but do feel free to tell me again."

That smugness earned him a smack on the arse and another kiss.

"When will we move?" Benedict demanded to know as he pressed his face and hands against the capsule wall.

"Soon," the genius assured him and ruffled his soft baby curls affectionately. "You are so impatient today!"

And true to his word, several minutes later, they were moving. This was the first time the older man had been on the attraction and he had to confess that it was spectacular. He was seeing London like he had never seen it before. And he was experiencing it with the two most important people in his life. He wondered how he had ever gotten so lucky.

"Wow. This really is beautiful," John breathed as he gazed out the glass enclosure as they neared the pinnacle of the rotation. Twilight had descended on London, bathing the city in the soft glow of the recently set sun and the twinkle of lights.

"I thought you would like it," Sherlock responded. "I know Benedict has been asking to come up here for some time now, but I didn't want to take him without you. I thought this was something that we should do as a family."

The doctor's head whipped around at that last word. _Family_. He had never heard his partner refer to their dynamic in that way. He nearly stopped breathing.

For a few more seconds, the detective continued to stare out at their city and said quietly, "That's what I want us to be, John. I want us to be a family. Officially." He turned to face his blogger.

John blinked several times to ensure that he wasn't imagining this conversation. His partner took a step closer to him and linked their hands together.

"What are you saying, Sherlock?"

That intense icy blue stare locked onto his. "What I'm saying is that you have continued to turn my world upside down since the day I first met you. I'm a better man because of you, and I can't imagine my life without you. You are the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and I want your face to be the last thing I see when I leave this world…"

Sherlock went down on one knee and the doctor did in fact stop breathing.

"John Hamish Watson—I love you more than I could ever express to you. Please do me the honor of becoming my husband."

Ben hopped over to them and handed the genius something. The older man watched the exchange and realized that his lover was presenting him with platinum band inlaid with diamonds. It was elegant and simple yet ornate at the same time. It was stunning and somehow managed to capture the essence of their relationship.

"God—Sherlock!" John cried out and felt tears splash down his face onto that pale, outstretched hand. He bent down and gave his partner a sweet kiss.

As they pulled away from one another, Sherlock gave him a searching look. "Is that a 'yes', then?"

Wiping his eyes, the doctor giggled and answered, "Yes it's a 'yes', you infuriating, mad, romantic bastard!"

Finally having the answer he was looking for, Sherlock slipped the band onto his blogger's left ring finger. John was unsurprised to find that the ring was a perfect fit. He gazed down at it, admiring the way the stones glittered in the low lighting. And in that moment, the doctor was so overwhelmingly happy that he felt like he would burst.

When Sherlock stood, John wrapped his arms around the lanky genius and buried his face in the detective's shoulder. His partner held him closer still. Sherlock breathed easy for the first time in seven days. He had been on edge ever since he had made their dinner reservation a week ago. Like everything else he did, he had researched marriage proposals endlessly until he was just as much an expert on it as any wedding planner. He had initially scoffed when he had read about how many prospective bridegrooms became increasing nervous about "popping the question". Though he would never admit this aloud, Sherlock had experienced the same feelings, regardless of the fact that he knew without a doubt that John would say yes.

Their private moment was broken when Ben clapped his hands excitedly and demanded to know, "You going to get mawried?! You'll stay with us, Papa, fowever?!"

John reached down to pick up his son—_their_ son—to include him in this life-changing moment.

The answering smile Sherlock gave lit up his face and the doctor thought that the man before him was the most stunning view he'd ever seen. The scenery beyond their enclosure couldn't hold a candle to his younger partner in John's eyes.

Sherlock reached around to embrace his two boys and kissed Benedict on the temple before he responded, "You know that I will. And yes—Daddy and I are going to get married!"

"When?" Ben demanded.

That was one question he didn't have an answer to. The detective turned his inquiring gaze to John's. "So what do you think, John?"

"I think maybe this autumn?"

"Excellent! I know just the perfect time and place…"


	15. Something Borrowed, Something Blue

**And what's the proposal without the wedding! And smut! :D I do so thoroughly enjoy gratuitous sex scenes... ;)**

* * *

John blew out the breath he had been holding and adjusted his tie for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. The knock on his door jolted him out of his stupor and he jerked his head around to find Greg popping his head through the crack he had just created.

"How you doing?" the DI asked with a grin on his face. He took one look at the doctor's expression and that was all he needed to enter the room fully. In a few short strides, he was at John's side and patted him on the back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

The doctor inhaled deeply a few more times before he finally responded earnestly, "I might be sick."

"Aww—that's normal. Just pre-wedding jitters," Lestrade assured him. "Christ, you and Sherlock are already married—this just makes it official really. Just think of this as a celebration of your love and your lives."

"What beautiful sentiment—I don't think I could have said it better myself!" Mycroft declared as he stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

Greg offered his lover a quick peck on the lips before they both turned their attention back to John.

"How's Sherlock?" the doctor questioned. He was still a little miffed that they had refused to let him stay with his detective last night. Mummy and Mrs. Hudson had both insisted that it was bad luck for the couple to see one another the night before the wedding. Personally, John didn't buy into that superstitious nonsense, but if it made the ladies happy, well…

The elder Holmes leaned forward to straighten his soon-to-be brother-in-law's tie. "He's slightly manic. Nervous. Excited. 'Wants to get this over with' as he put it just moments ago."

At that, John visibly relaxed a bit and offered his companions a genuine smile. He had expected his younger lover to be the calm and collected one of the two of them. It was nice to be wrong about that—it meant that Sherlock wasn't as unaffected by this change in their status as he had been trying to be.

"Thank you, Mycroft, for being there for him. I know that he's just as nervous as I am and we all know that it's a rare occurrence to see Sherlock worked up like this," he said to the politician.

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," the elder Holmes assured him. "You are a remarkable man, John, and he knows it even if he doesn't voice it. Sherlock is well aware that what he has with you is exceptional. He's a very lucky man."

John couldn't help but blush at the words of praise being offered to him by his future brother-in-law. Mycroft reached up to cup his tanned face in his long slender fingers and kissed him softly and chastely on the lips.

"I wish the both you a lifetime of love and happiness," he expounded before stepping back and allowing Greg to offer his congratulations.

The DI clapped him once more on the back before they bother turned to leave. "We'll see you down in the garden. Meet Sherlock on the terrace in five minutes and the two of you will walk down to the gazebo just like we rehearsed yesterday."

John just nodded in response and took one last look at himself in the mirror.

"Oh—I almost forgot!" he heard Mycroft exclaim before the politician popped back into the room. He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out an antique pocket watch and handed it to John.

The doctor took and glanced down at it in open curiosity. It was white gold with a satin finish and the Holmes family crest etched onto the front. It was a beautiful specimen of old world craftsmanship, made by a true master of his craft and quite obviously _very_ old.

"This was ultimately my great-grandfather's," Mycroft explained at John's questioning expression. "For your 'something borrowed'. Think of it as a good luck charm for the day."

He was touched that the elder Holmes would trust him with such a precious heirloom. He pulled out the blue silk handkerchief Sherlock had given him last night and wrapped the watch in it before stuffing both into his inside jacket pocket for safe-keeping.

Before he could express his thanks, his brother-in-law had already disappeared down the hall. And now it was officially time, so John took a deep breath and marched with determination towards the open terrace. He silently thanked God that it had turned out to be such a gorgeous autumn day. They had been biting their nails all week, as the forecast originally had called for rain all week and into the weekend. But luckily it had stopped raining Thursday afternoon and now, Saturday morning it was bright, sunny, and dry. Not that it really mattered—had bad weather been in store, they would have just said their vows in the library since it was big enough to accommodate all of their guests.

John stepped out onto the terrace and turned his smiling face up to the sun. It was moments like this that he was so grateful to be alive, to have been given the chance to live instead of bleeding out in the hot Afghan dust.

Sherlock's steps faltered as he caught sight of John standing there. It had been a very similar moment that had cemented his mind on the whole marriage idea in the first place. "Aren't you a sight of sore eyes?" he announced.

The doctor shivered as that deep timbre rumbled through him and he turned to face his fiancé for the first time in what felt like days, though it had only been hours. The younger man stepped closer and kissed him lightly. John tried to follow as he moved away, but Sherlock just shook his head and laughed as he offered his arm for his blogger to take.

"If we don't start walking down to the garden gazebo now I'm afraid we'll never make it," the consulting detective declared. "Mycroft will send people to look for us, thinking one of us has backed out."

"Not changing your mind on me, are you?" John asked with a laugh, trying for brevity but not sure if he succeeded.

With that dazzling smile of his, Sherlock replied, "Not on your life."

The genius offered his arm again and this time John took it without reservation. And taking one last deep breath each, they stepped down onto the stone path that would lead them to their waiting guests. John couldn't help but notice how the lush green grass contrasted so nicely with the bright blue sky and the fiery orange and red trees on this beautiful October day at the Holmes manor. But more importantly than the weather, John was marrying his best friend and the one person he knew he couldn't live without.

* * *

"…and _that_ was when I knew Sherlock had met his match in one Dr. John Watson," Lestrade intoned, earning a giggle from the guests. "So John—you poor sod—I have no doubt that your marital bonds will be tested, quite frequently, along with your patience. But seriously, John—Sherlock—I offer you my most heartfelt congratulations and wish you nothing but love and happiness in all the years to come. No one is more deserving of a lifetime of devotion than the two of you. So…cheers!"

The DI lifted his champagne flute in a toast and the rest of those assembled followed his lead and took a long sip of their alcohol. Mycroft caught Greg's eye over the heads of the happy couple and clinked the side of his glass with his fork, a mischievous grin reflecting on his face. Others caught on to his intent and joined in.

John tilted his head to the side, motioning to their company as he looked at Sherlock. The genius had been to enough family weddings to know that the crowd would keep up their ruckus until the newlyweds gave them what they wanted. So he leaned forwards and kissed his blogger quite thoroughly for their guests' entertainment.

Mrs. Hudson and Mummy both beamed like the proud mothers they were yet simultaneously covered Benedict's eyes. Phyllis sighed contentedly as she watched her youngest and her new son-in-law gazing at one another like they were the only two people left in the world.

"I knew the moment Sherlock introduced me to John that this day would come," Mrs. Hudson told her friend. "I did think it'd happen a lot sooner, mind you, but thankfully they both got over themselves finally."

"Oh, Martha!" Mummy giggled behind her hand. "I am just ever so grateful that Sherlock has found someone who loves him for exactly who he is. Lord knows even as his mother, it was difficult at times."

"But John manages well enough, Phyllis, so there is no need to worry," Mrs. Hudson assured her and reached over to take her hand.

At the head table, Greg leaned over and asked John quietly, "So what song did you pick out for your first dance? You've not said anything."

The doctor shook his head and answered, "To be quite honest—I haven't the faintest. Sherlock asked to pick it out and he said he wanted it to be surprise."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows at that. "And you let him? Aren't you worried?"

"Worried about what?"

"Well, that he might have chosen something…I don't know…inappropriate?"

John shook his head and smiled. "Not in the least. Sherlock can be quite the romantic when he chooses to be, so no—I'm not worried. I trust him with this. He no doubt has chosen something fitting."

"Well it looks like you're about to find out," Greg stated as Sherlock stood and offered his hand to his husband.

He took the consulting detective's long fingers in his and allowed himself to be pulled to the dance floor. "I know we agreed to the live band, but I hope that you don't mind that I wanted this recording especially."

"Anything you wanted is fine love," John assured him. "I trust you."

"I want you to know that I went with something that expressed how I felt about you," Sherlock told him with a lopsided smile.

As the music started, John looked up startled at his partner—he had not been expecting this song. "Sherlock," he whispered, "despite what everyone else might think you are quite the hopeless romantic."

"Only for you," the younger man said they started to sway to the music. Keeping his voice low so that only his lover could hear, he even sang to John. "I'm lookin' right at the other half of me, the vacancy that sat in my heart is a space that know you hold. Show me how to fight for now and I'll tell you it was easy comin' back here to you once I figured it out. You were right here all along. It's like you're my mirror, my mirror staring back to me…"

"_Mirrors_? This is how you feel about me?" John asked, stunned. This was definitely not a song he would have thought Sherlock would have chosen. "I was unaware that you even knew who Justin Timberlake was."

"I heard it in a cab a few weeks ago, oddly enough and I thought it rather fitting," the genius explained. "And this is an apt description, yes. You are the other half of me, John and I meant it then and I mean it now—I'd be lost without you."

"God, I love you."

* * *

The rest of the reception passed with much merriment. Sherlock could say without a doubt that this was the best day of life. Though as much as he was thoroughly enjoying himself and, in this rare instance, the company of their guests, he was more than ready for some alone time with his new spouse.

Ever the mind reader, Mycroft appeared at his side as he stood back and watched John share a dance with Mummy.

"I want to offer my congratulations, little brother," the elder Holmes stated.

"Thank you, Mycroft," the detective replied. "And I thank you for arranging everything for us. This was all quite lovely and much appreciated."

"Think nothing of it," the politician stated. "You are my brother, Sherlock, and I would do anything for you. You deserve to be happy and I'm glad you found John."

The younger man nodded in acknowledgement as they both watched their mother with the newest official member of their family.

"I do, however, have one more surprise for you," Mycroft told him with a smile. "As my personal wedding gift to you—well, it's a gift from Gregory and myself—we have booked you for the next several nights at The Dorchester in the Terrace Suite."

Sherlock turned to look at his brother. "Well you spared no expense, did you?"

"It's very nice and I thought that you and John might enjoy the suite's Jacuzzi tub," the elder Holmes responded with a smirk. "I thought you deserved a little privacy to become reacquainted with one another after this change in your relationship status. Benedict will stay with me over the next week, so do not worry and enjoy yourselves."

"Thank you—that's very generous of you," Sherlock replied.

"You are most welcome. Think nothing of it," Mycroft told him. "I'm sure as much as you both love the manor, it wouldn't be a proper honeymoon and I know you both decided you didn't want to go far. This is the perfect solution."

Sherlock didn't respond because at that moment, the song had ended and John was sauntering their way with a sultry smile playing across his face.

"Oh—and there's a car waiting out front to take you back into the city to the hotel whenever you're ready," his brother whispered with a wink before he slipped away unnoticed.

When John reached his new spouse, he reached up and brushed his lips chastely against Sherlock's.

"Seems Mycroft has booked us a week's stay at The Dorchester," the genius advised him in a low voice. "What do you say we get out of here?"

* * *

He heard the door to their hotel room close with a definitive click. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself for what he knew he was about to do before he loosened his bowtie and undid the buttons on his waistcoat.

John's bare feet softly padded towards him. Several seconds later, those muscular arms slide around his waist and pulled him closer. The doctor reached up to place a kiss on the back of Sherlock's neck.

"God! I can't believe it—we're actually married," the older man breathed.

The detective smiled and turned his head slightly to accept another kiss that was haphazardly aimed at the corner of his mouth. "I never thought I would ever get married," he stated truthfully. "But then you came along and turned everything upside down…"

With a chuckle, John retorted, "And you loved every minute of it—don't pretend otherwise."

Sherlock finally turned to fully face his husband and smiled. "Seems you're the exception to all my rules, Dr. Watson-Holmes." The joining of their surnames caused a grin to spread across his blogger's face.

No more words were said as the doctor met his lips in what started out as a slow and leisurely kiss. They began with loving caresses and deliberate slides of the tongue. It wasn't a fight for dominance, instead it was a sweet give and take—a push and pull that was silently agreed upon by both partners. When it turned heated, Sherlock surrendered to John as he worked his talented long fingers over his doctor's buttons. Always one to be quick on the uptake, the older man returned the favor until they both fell onto the bed naked.

They spent many torturously glorious minutes re-exploring one another's bodies until the genius couldn't take it anymore. He blindly reached over into the nightstand drawer, knowing that Mycroft had ensured that the room was fully stocked with everything they could possibly want for the next several nights. When he pulled his hand back with the lube in his possession, he grabbed John's right hand and placed a reverent kiss in the center of his palm. The doctor looked up and captured his gaze as he flicked open the bottle with practiced ease and lubed up the fingers of that same hand. John grinned again and shuffled to his knees. It didn't happen often, but Sherlock loved to watch him prepare himself. But before he could move too far, the detective grabbed his wrist and brought that hand down to caress at the sensitive skin behind his balls.

"Sherlock—what are you doing?" John asked in shock.

"I thought it was obvious," his baritone answered. "I want you to take me. I want to feel you inside me."

His blogger stared down at him for several seconds before responding, "You're absolutely sure? I mean—what happened before with Victor…I don't blame you, Sweetheart. We don't have to do this…you know that I'm fine with it."

"John—it doesn't matter, really," Sherlock insisted. "It was a significantly unpleasant experience, I won't lie, but…while yes—it may in fact have colored my view on intimate relationships for a bit—I'm over that now. I _choose_ to share my body with you. You have only taken what I have already willingly given to you. I am choosing to give this to you because I want to share this experience _with_ _you_."

"God!" John huffed before he leaned over the lanky detective to bite desperately at his lower lip.

Sherlock moaned as the doctor's tongue invaded his mouth. He was so wrapped up in the kiss that he failed to register the blunt finger teasing at his entrance until it slipped in. The genius gasped at the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched open.

"Just breathe," his blogger whispered, locking eyes with him once more. "Another finger, okay? Relax, I've got you."

He gave a brief nod as John carefully worked a second finger in to join the first. It wasn't bad, but it was slightly uncomfortable, that was until his doctor with surgical precision crooked his finger and found that little bundle of nerves. Sherlock moaned as his hips bucked involuntarily, intense pleasure exploding through his body.

John tapped his lover's prostate with every thrust of his practiced fingers, forcing Sherlock to focus on the ecstasy of the process and forget the unusual stretch of one of his most sensitive areas. It wasn't until the consulting detective was writhing and begging that the good doctor ceased his ministrations.

"For the love of all that's holy—John—_please_!" Sherlock pleaded with desperation, his hands trying to pull his now husband closer.

"Sherlock," was all the older man said. It was a command, a declaration, a supplication.

The genius finally opened his eyes and met his partner's heated indigo stare. It was only after they made eye contact—and maintained it—that John finally submit to their mutual desire and slowly, so slowly, pushed into Sherlock. The doctor didn't stop until his erection was fully encased in that wonderfully hot and tight body that he loved so much.

"Breathe, love, breathe," John urged as he leaned forward to rest forehead against Sherlock's. The younger man refused to look away as he willed his body to relax against his spouse's. He was ever so grateful that his blogger seemed to know intrinsically just what he needed without him having to voice it. They were both aware that there were other, better positions that made first times like this much easier, but John knew without saying so much as a word that Sherlock needed the visual reminder that it was him who was taking the younger man.

They stayed locked in that position without moving for several long moments. If John had been a lesser man, he would have broke only a short while into this. But luckily, he was a patient man and only when he could feel Sherlock's tight entrance relax around him did he start with unhurried, shallow thrusts all the while still staring into light blue eyes.

On every pass, he made sure to graze that spot with the head of his erection. It wasn't long before the pain melted into sheer pleasure for Sherlock and soon he was lifting his hips off the mattress to meet John's efforts. The genius let his hands roam freely up the doctor's stomach and chest before he trailed them around the older man's sides to bring them to rest on his shoulders.

He gripped tightly while chanting, "Yes, _yes_!" brokenly as John picked up the pace just enough for them both to feel the urgency of their actions.

The doctor lifted his left hand to brush away a stray curl from his husband's sweaty forehead. "God—you're so beautiful," he huffed before he leaned over once again to this time crush his lips to Sherlock's.

The detective moaned into his lover's mouth as the change of angle caused his neglected member to become trapped between their abdomens. John's thrusts provided the blessed friction he needed in order to find sweet relief. Finally, of their own accord, his eyes slid shut as he wrapped his long legs around his blogger's waist, changing the angle once more.

And with two more direct hits to his abused bundle of nerves, Sherlock screamed John's name as his orgasm ripped through him with an unexpected and near violent force. He was vaguely aware of the doctor gasping his name in return before he felt the sudden rush of wetness inside him.

After the whiteness faded from his vision, the genius forced his eyes open to find John still hovering over him, flushed and panting, looking oh so deliciously fucked. Sherlock licked his lips and blindly reached for his partner's right hand with his left and interlaced their fingers. John grinned and brought their joined hands up to his mouth where he placed delicate kisses all along the fine platinum band now gracing Sherlock's ring finger.

"I find that sentiment of this type is surprisingly tolerable in moments like these," the younger man confessed, the deep timbre of his voice sending a shiver down his spouse's spine.

"You'd better get used to it then," John warned as he placed more kisses on long, pale digits. "It's my intention to spoil you rotten with sentiment for the rest of our lives."

"Far be it for me to stop you, Dr. Watson-Holmes."

"I like the sound of that."

"What?"

"Watson-Holmes. When we first started our relationship, I never dreamed that we would be married! God! You're my husband!" John exclaimed, the delighted expression on his face said it all.

Sherlock smiled and replied, "I know. I've told you before that I never entertained the notion of a committed relationship like this before, yet somehow I can't manage to live without you. And I can't seem to bring myself to care."

They lay gazing at one another for several long moments before the detective spoke again. "I can't wait until I get to introduce ourselves to people: Hello, I'm Sherlock Watson-Holmes and this is my husband, John. If I wasn't so tremendously happy right now, I think I'd make myself sick…"

John's eyes widened fractionally as he took a deep breath. For a minute, Sherlock thought he might have said the wrong thing at the end there—that is, until his blogger burst into a fit of giggles.

* * *

**Mmm...I do love me a toppish John...and as a little side note-I do actually to write our dear Dr. Watson as the top, but I thought for the sake of this story I would mix it up since I have him topping in everything else I write. I did have to give him his moment though ;) I hope the wedding night didn't disappoint...**

**And I absolutely love the song _Mirrors_-I thought it would be an accurate portrayal of their relationship in this story, especially from Sherlock's point of view. What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic myself. 3**


	16. Epilogue

**…10 Years Later…**

Greg bound up the steps to John and Sherlock's sitting room. It was quiet behind the door to 221B, so he entered with caution.

"Hey, Uncle Greg," Benedict greeted with a wave.

The young man was sitting sideways in Sherlock's old leather chair, legs draped over the arm. He was reading a rather thick book with Gladstone curled up on the floor just beneath him.

"Pops isn't home right now," his nephew informed him.

Lestrade glanced around the flat as if he anticipated his brother-in-law to jump out from behind the couch or someplace equally unexpected.

"Where is Sherlock?" the DI asked curiously.

"I dunno," Ben answered in an uninterested tone as he continued to flip through the pages of his book. "He said earlier that he was trying to avoid you. Something about how it was excruciatingly obvious that it was the color of the lady's knickers that gave her away as the murderer. All I know is that he and Dad shagged quite loudly this morning and then went out—thank God."

"Erm…right," Greg blushed at the frank admission from the teenager about the consulting detective and his blogger having a morning shag. He thought it was somehow indecent for the boy to know so much about his parents' sex life.

Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, the policeman tried to catch a glimpse at the title of the volume in his nephew's hands. "What are you reading?"

"Oh…" Benedict held the tome up so that Greg could see the front cover.

"_Advanced Quantum Physics_?!"

"Yeah, what?"

"Really?" Lestrade questioned, not understanding in the least. Ben couldn't help but notice the uncanny likeness his uncle's face had to Gladstone's, that look that said the dog didn't understand what was being told to him.

Benedict blinked rapidly several times, not fully comprehending what was so difficult to understand.

"Is that part of your school work?" Greg continued to press.

Doing an eerie impression of Sherlock, Ben rolled his eyes and stated, "No. I picked it up for a bit of light reading."

The answer only resulted in increasing the tilted angle at which Greg regarded him. The statement seemed to make less sense to him than the last. Benedict decided that now was a good time to change the subject—lest his uncle's brain imploded or the severe angle of his neck caused damage.

It was then that the main door downstairs was opened and then slammed shut, followed by whispers and giggles as the missing lovers ascended the steps to their flat. About thirteen steps up, there was a thud against the wall and then several seconds later there was the sound of a needy moan.

"Mmm—I think I'll take you right here against the wall in the stairwell until you beg for mercy twice…" Sherlock's deep baritone rumbled.

"We can hear you!" Greg shouted down to the couple.

"I know! I said it for your benefit!" that deep baritone answered back.

"Christ, Sherlock! Your son is up here too!"

"It's alright—he's used it by now."

"Umm—really not, Pops! That last time you did something like that, I had nightmares for a week!"

Seconds later, a smug looking Sherlock entered the sitting room followed by an embarrassed and blushing John.

Greg turned and gave the doctor a knowing grin and asked, "So—ten years! Congrats and happy anniversary by the way! Any plans?"

The consulting detective just shrugged and answered, "Just dinner and perhaps a quiet night in."

"While Benedict comes and stays the night with us," Mycroft added to his husband as he ascended the steps and strolled into the sitting room. He stepped up to Greg and planted a chaste kiss on his lips in greeting.

"I'm gonna to school you in chess this time, Uncle My," Ben declared with an evil grin as he hopped out of his chair and grabbed his backpack.

"What are they teaching you at that school?" the politician demanded with a horrified look on his face. "The cost of your tuition is too high for you to be learning bad American slang!"

"And yet I managed to learn a ton of it in addition to being at the top of my class," the teen countered with a smug look so much like Sherlock's that John had to choke down a fit of giggles.

"Alright!" Greg said as he grabbed the back of his nephew's neck playfully. "We're taking the kid and the dog. You two enjoy your evening!"

After another round of "Happy anniversary!" and goodbyes, the Baker Street couple was finally left in peace.

"So," John started casually, "I know you've made plans. What now?"

Sherlock smiled adoringly at his husband and responded, "First, Doctor, we are going to dinner! So your required dress for the evening entails a suit."

"Any preferences?" John asked with a smirk, already knowing the answer.

"Yes—the Armani pinstripe with that silver shirt should do quite nicely."

* * *

After a nice candlelight dinner at a very swanky new restaurant and two bottles of Chateau La Mondotte Saint-Emilion, the couple leisurely made their way home on foot hand in hand.

Once inside, Sherlock made no pretense about what he wanted to have happen next. He sauntered straight into their bedroom, undressing as he went. John eagerly followed, knowing that whatever his husband had in mind, he was for it—especially if it involved them being naked.

Behind the security of their closed door, they took their time finishing undressing each other and after that was accomplished, the younger man pushed his blogger down onto the bed and slowly worshiped the body he knew so well with his lips and tongue, building the anticipation. If there was one thing Sherlock Watson-Holmes had learned during all these years with a certain ex-army doctor, it was the advanced art of foreplay. And he did it well. He knew all the right buttons to push, when and what places would kick up the heat a notch, which ones would slow it down just enough, and others that would make his husband beg for mercy. He was the foremost expert on John H. Watson-Holmes.

But finally, said doctor had finally had enough teasing and rolled so that the genius was pinned beneath him. He delved into the hot cavern of his detective's mouth and licked and pillaged as he went. And while his spouse was every bit as enthusiastic as he could have hoped for, he knew there was something off about their encounter.

"What's on your mind," John asked as he carded his fingers through the slightly grayed hair at Sherlock's temples. "You've been in an odd mood for the past few weeks. Out with it already."

The detective smirked and leaned up to briefly capture his husband's lips. "I was going to bring it up later—you're so much more agreeable post-coitus."

"You are a manipulative bastard, you know that?" the doctor demanded without any real heat behind the words.

"Ah—but you love me for it," Sherlock countered.

John decided to silence him by once again sealing his mouth to the genius'. No further discussion was had at that point; the time for talking was temporarily behind them. And on this, their tenth wedding anniversary, the give and take of their lovemaking was all the more powerful.

The doctor gasped his husband's name as they climaxed simultaneously. Being careful not to hurt either of them, he pulled out and rolled them over onto their sides and cuddled closer. They lay like that, holding each other and panting for several long moments before either one spoke.

"I want a baby," Sherlock blurted out, his gaze locked onto John's.

The doctor's indigo eyes searched his partner's light blue ones intently. "What brought this on? I know you've given this quite a bit of thought…"

"Benedict will be off to university in just a few short years," Sherlock reasoned. John nodded for him to continue. "And I miss having him so small and cuddlely. Being with you—and him—has been the best years of my life."

"I'm nearly fifty, Sherlock," John responded softly, caressing one of those sharp cheekbones.

"Yes—and barring any unforeseen accidents, we both have quite a number of years to look forward to," the consulting detective told him. "And…with Greg now as Chief Superintendant, helping the Yard out just isn't the same. I don't mind Dimmock, really, but Lestrade was so much better to work with. And as you've said, neither of us is getting any younger. It's becoming harder and harder running around after criminals these days—especially since you got shot in the thigh a year ago…perhaps it's time for us to retire to a little country cottage like we've been talking about…what else would we spend our time doing besides beekeeping and reading?"

John smiled fondly at his husband as he replied, "So raising another child sounds like the perfect solution and use of our time?"

"Do you disagree?"

"Well…no…"

"I love Benedict—I truly do—but I'd like to have a child that is equally ours. Genetically linked to both of us. And we missed his early years—his birth, his first steps, first words," Sherlock confessed.

"You know that Ben thinks of you as a father—hell, I think he's probably closer to you than he is with me. He may not be biologically yours, but Sherlock, he is your son in every way that counts," the older man advised.

"I know he is."

"Besides, seeing as how we're both men, I'm not sure how you plan to accomplish a biological child from both of us—science has made some progress but it's not nearly that far along yet," John argued.

Sherlock nodded in agreement and said, "True, but no two people share DNA closer than that of twins…"

"I know, Sweetheart, but Harry is just as old as I am—and women have a shorter window for producing healthy offspring," the doctor countered.

"I don't deny that, John, but…Mycroft told me that she had her eggs frozen a while back when she and Clara were trying to have children," the genius ventured hesitantly.

John blinked in surprise. "You're right. I had forgotten all about that. Hang on—you mentioned this to Mycroft?"

"While we were out to lunch the other day," Sherlock told him. "We were talking about family and children and I mentioned that I might like to have another one…"

"What did he say?" the doctor was genuinely intrigued by his brother-in-law's answer.

With a grin, the detective answered, "That 'you were good for me, fatherhood suites me, and he and Greg would love to have another niece or nephew to spoil rotten'. And I hope you don't mind, but I already spoke with Harry about it too…she is more than willing to help us out."

John thought about it for several minutes before stating, "Well, we're alright financially at the moment and could afford to retire, but not if we're looking at raising another child and paying for doctors bills and what-not for a surrogate."

"I know—that's why I've finally accepted my inheritance," Sherlock declared and held his breath.

Once again there was that deep, searching look before John asked quietly, "You're completely serious then?"

"Absolutely. I don't say this to you lightly," the genius informed him.

"No—I know you don't. Knowing you, you've analyzed this from every possible angle imaginable to the point where your argument would be so rock solid I couldn't say no," John responded teasingly.

Sherlock had the good grace to look sheepish at that. "That's not all…"

"What?"

"You know that place out in Devon that you loved?"

"Yes…?"

"Well, happy anniversary."

The doctor stared at him in shock. "Are you—are you saying that you just bought that house in Devon?"

"The one with the scenic view you couldn't get enough of? Yes—the deed is being drawn up as we speak. Mycroft will have it to us by the end of the week," Sherlock stated.

He felt his eyes prickle with unshed tears. This was more than John had ever dreamed of. They had spent many long hours dreaming about a life in the country, but the doctor knew that his detective would not be able to just leave The Work behind and he would never ask that of him either. But it seems that Sherlock once again managed to surprise him.

The genius pulled John closer to him and placed several chaste kisses upon his lips before saying, "You know that I've never been a fan of sentimental drivel, but John Watson-Holmes you are the perfect partner for me in every way and I just want you to know that. I want this new life with you…I love you."

"You are quite the romantic when you want to be," the doctor told his husband, not bothering to hide the tears leaking from his eyes. "You know the man I met fifteen years ago would have never considered any of this…"

Sherlock caressed his blogger's jaw tenderly as he replied, "Well, I'm not the same man I was fifteen years ago."

John laughed through his happy tears and asked, "So…retirement, a house in the country, and a baby?"

"If you're amenable…"

"Why I do believe I am, Mr. Watson-Holmes…"

* * *

**And there you have it! Thanks again to all of you who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this story! I really appreciate your support and sticking with me for this long. And my undying gratitude and love to Captain Evil, who is my never-ending source of inspiration.**

**The lovely and talented Sendai (go read her work-it's fabulous!) has asked for a sequel to this... Tell me what you think, as I was contemplating another story arc beyond this that includes and older Ben... But tell me what you want. :)**


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